


Daryl Dixon x Reader One-Shots

by LivingDeadGirl31



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drabbles, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Happy, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Violence, One Shot, One-Shots, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 21:00:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20954825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingDeadGirl31/pseuds/LivingDeadGirl31
Summary: Daryl Dixon x Reader One-Shots!Requests are open!! Please let me know what you want to read next - I'd love it if you send me a dialogue prompt or something !





	1. Call it plan B. Hell, call it plan Z. But I'm packing the good drugs.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Call it plan B. Hell, call it plan Z. But I'm packing the good drugs."
> 
> *Set in season 6*

The heart monitor beeped rhythmically and Denise sighed, pulling the thermometer from Scott's mouth. His skin was a sickly shade. We didn't need a thermometer or a heart monitor to know that he was doing badly - and it didn't help that the infirmary was excruciatingly low on medical supplies.  
  
"So what do you need?" You asked Denise while scanning the empty shelves of the room, pen and paper in hand. Daryl was perched on the edge of the windowsill staring at Scott's weak body.  
The bullet wound inflicted upon by Sturgess about a week prior wasn't showing any signs of improvement, and Alexandria's make-shift doctor was becoming increasingly worried. Desperate and anxious, she'd come to you and Daryl to ask for help.  
  
"Painkillers, definitely. Antibiotics, too. Gauze, bandages, antiseptic," she listed the various items, counting each on her finger as she named them. You stopped writing halfway through 'antibiotics'; Denise was going way too fast. You sighed and balled up the paper, tossing at across the room at Daryl. The paper smacked him square in the face and he shot you a 'what the hell?' look.  
  
"Pay attention, Dixon. We're doing this together."  
  
The archer shot up off the windowsill and brushed past you.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. Medicine and shit. Got it," he said flippantly and you rolled your eyes. Offering Denise a reassuring smile, you left the room and followed Daryl to the armory.  
  
After grabbing the necessary weapons, the two of you hopped into a crappy blue truck and headed out of the community and towards a pharmacy about an hour's drive out. The drive felt short, and soon enough the old brakes were screeching the truck to a halt outside a dilapidated building.  
  
The parking lot was littered with papers and other trash tumbling around lightly in the breeze, while a few walkers limped aimlessly around in front of the building.  
  
"Ready?" Daryl asked you as the two of you made your quiet exit from the truck, weapons raised. You nodded. As you approached, the walkers suddenly found direction and started walking towards the both of you, jaws snapping hungrily. It wasn't long before the half-a-dozen grotesque corpses were stilled and lifeless on the paving, easily taken out by your knife and Daryl's crossbow.  
  
Without the snarls of the dead, the sound of your footsteps seemed loud as you walked towards the pharmacy. A few of the windows were smashed in but the glass doors seemed to still be locked in place.  
Silently you said a prayer and hoped that it hadn't totally been ransacked. Scott's life - and maybe many others in the future - depended on these supplies.  
  
Daryl carefully maneuvered himself through the broken window before offering you a hand, which you gratefully took.  
  
"Stay behind me," the man instructed gruffly. The two of you had been a great team since you first arrived at the prison, and you'd frequently go on runs together. Despite the number of times you'd proved your capabilities, Daryl seemed to always be protective of you. It was kind of annoying, but it also left your heart feeling warm and you couldn't help but be grateful for the over-protective asshole with the angel-wing vest.  
Ignoring him, you remained next to him as the two of you scanned the building. Much to your relief, it was clear of walkers. Unfortunately it also seemed to be clear of anything remotely useful; the shelves were barren and dusty, save for a box of condoms.  
Upon further inspection you saw that it was grape flavor, and you shoved it inside your mostly empty backpack. Daryl eyed you incredulously, making you blush.  
  
"What?" You said defensively, feeling as if you'd just been caught doing something inappropriate. "People back home might need 'em. Not everyone is celibate like you, Dixon," you teased and kept walking, ignoring the way he gawked at you.  
  
"Whatever," the archer mumbled.  
  
Glass and dust crunched beneath your dirty boots as you continued scouring the emptied building. It was difficult to find medical supplies considering that it was one of the first things that people scavenged for nowadays, so it wasn't a surprise to find that there wasn't even a single Asprin to be found.  
  
"It's a bust," you said with a sigh as you mentally said your goodbyes to Scott. Closing your eyes, you leaned against the dirty wall and pinched the bridge of your nose in an attempt to release the tension building in your temples. It was something you'd done for as long as you could remember. Headaches were as frequent in your old life as they were now.  
  
"Hold up," Daryl said as you snapped your eyes open and followed his gaze. There was a door just beyond the prescription counter. Flecks of gray paint chipped off the metal door, leaving it looking mottled and decaying. Moving forward. Daryl tried the silver handle. It didn't budge.  
  
"I've got it." You approached the door and pulled the lock pick set out of your jean pocket. One of the reasons why you went on runs so often is because of your valuable lock-picking skills, something you had learned on the internet a few years prior to the outbreak. It wasn't something you'd ever admitted considering that it took a lot of the 'bad-ass' energy out of the skill. After about a minute, the lock clicked and you entered the room cautiously, Daryl so close behind you that you could feel his warm breath tickle your neck. You shivered and your stomach fluttered. It annoyed you how quickly he could make you feel like a hormonal high school girl. The worst part was that he didn't even realize he was doing it.  
  
"Holy shit," Daryl muttered under his breath, snapping you back to reality. The room was fully stocked - various pill bottles, packages, and fluid-filled bags lined the racks. Scott was going to be just fine.  
  
Rushing forward, you got to work on finding the right medicines before stuffing your bag full of antibiotics and other pills. Daryl read the labels of various bottles through his shaggy hair before shoving them into his backpack. Scanning the names of everything he was taking - Ambien, Fentanyl, Nytol, and a variety of opioids and sleeping pills - you scoffed loudly. He glanced over his shoulder at you and did a double-take when he realized you were staring disbelievingly.  
  
"Do you realize about half of those things are more likely to kill Scott than they are to heal him? Saving him is Plan A, Dixon."  
  
The archer shrugged and kept shoving away the heavy medication. The toned muscles moved beneath his tanned skin with every movement he made, and you were briefly distracted.  
  
"Call it plan B. Hell, call it plan Z. But I'm packing the good drugs," Daryl said as he bagged the final bottle of pills.  
  
"So plan Z is to put Scott in a drug-induced coma?" You asked sarcastically, shifting the strap of your loaded backpack.  
  
"It is what it is," he said, making you laugh softly. A whisper of a smile tugged at his mouth, and your heart swelled at the sight. A small blush flushed your pale cheeks when you realized he was staring. He always seemed to stare every time you laughed, as if the sound were alien to him... and his steely blue eyes were like that of a toddler discovering something new, eyes filled with what could only be described as intrigue and wonder.  
You cleared your throat and turned your attention back to the shelves filled with supplies that could determine life or death.  
  
"So if I get shot, your ideal plan would be to pump me to the brim with some bizarre chemical concoction until I'm comatose..." Your fingers traced the cool metal of the shelves, fingertips coming away covered in dust that had settled there over a few months.  
"Sounds fun," you add dryly.  
  
His footsteps stopped and I turned around questioningly, wondering if maybe he'd seen something. Instead you saw him staring at you through the strands of hair that hung in front of his eyes. He absentmindedly chewed on his bottom lip, something you'd noticed he did when he was thinking.  
  
"Ya ain't gonna get shot," his voice was low and almost... menacing.  
  
"Oh yeah? How do you know?" You challenged him, crossing your arms over your chest.  
  
"I ain't lettin' that happen," he said, his protective side coming out again. The most frustrating part about it was that there was no way of knowing whether he was protective because he cared about you the way you cared about him, or because he saw you as a sister. A lose strand of your (y/c) hair fell in your face, but you left it there in hopes that it would somehow help mask the heat that was slowly creeping up into your cheeks for seemingly no reason. Being an easy blusher was the worst.  
  
"You can't protect me from everything," you said softly, staring at the dirty floor. Your eyes stayed trained on his scruffy boots as they slowly made their way towards you. When they stopped a few inches from your own dirty boots, you lifted your head to look at Daryl. His eyes looked almost wild, slightly angry. Your heart pounded against your chest so loud you thought it would attract all walkers within a 10 mile radius.  
  
Daryl's one hand gripped his crossbow, and he slowly lifted his free hand toward you. His fingers tentatively brushed your hair out of your face, lightly brushing over your skin at the same time.  
  
"I can damn well try," his low voice seemed to make your knees tremble weakly, and you mentally reprimanded yourself for being so pathetic. The inches of space between the two of you seemed to be charged with electricity, making your breath slightly more shallow than you'd care to admit. He breathed heavily, and each breath that touched your face seemed intoxicating. All you wanted was to close that space between you... he was so near...  
  
Suddenly he took a step back as if he'd been shocked, and turned away from your trembling frame.  
  
"We should go," Daryl said as he stormed out of the room, backpack slung heavily from his shoulder. Shutting your eyes, you once again pinched the bridge of your nose and took a deep breath before following him out of the pharmacy.  
  
Once you safely got to the truck, Daryl sped out of the parking lot and back towards Alexandria. The successful run felt like a huge weight lifted off your shoulders, and it was good to know that Scott now had a chance at survival.  
  
The scenery blurred past you as you looked out of the rolled down window, cool afternoon air blowing on your face. Glancing out the corner of your eyes, you noticed Daryl looking at you, his gaze lingering longer than what would be considered safe while driving.  
  
"Eyes on the road, Dixon," you suppressed a smile as you stared straight ahead.  
  
"Shut up," Daryl grumbled and stepped on the gas, making the noisy truck speed ahead towards home. 


	2. Daryl x Daughter!Reader (Requested)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Emily: Daryl runs into his daughter on a run for Alexandria and is confused as to why she seems to hate him so strongly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: User requested the story to include pyromania and schizophrenia.

_Snarls filled the air as your heart beat so fast you were sure it was going to explode in your chest, just like a ticking bomb._  
  
_Flames licked at the grotesque creatures that filled the barn, and you knew this was it. The fire was spreading quickly and there was no escape. Both exits of the barn were no longer viable; each blocked by what looked like hundreds of the undead, and their numbers were increasing._  
  
_Turning from the edge of the platform, you directed your gaze to Hershel's overrun farm. In the distance, you could spot your friends fighting for their lives - Glenn, Beth, Lori, some others. Your father was nowhere to be seen._  
  
_Fingers curled into determined fists of rage, you yelled as loud as you could towards anyone who could hear you._  
  
_"Help! Somebody help me!"_  
  
_The heat seemed so much more intense, and you suddenly realized that the upper level of the barn was now on fire. The flames would soon reach you._  
  
_"Dad!" Hot tears streamed down your dirty face as you screamed for Daryl and smoke entered into your lungs, burning and scratching at the tissue. But no one came._  
  
_Choosing to be brave, you turned around to face the flames hungrily consuming the wood around you in loud crackles. Flames leaped and danced around you, and the orange tongues licked at your skin._  
  
***  
  
Your body jerked awake and you gasped for air, clutching at your smoke-filled throat. Except it wasn't filled with smoke. You were fine.  
  
The door of your room slowly opened as a man carefully poked his head in; even in the darkness you could see the concern on his face.  
  
"You okay there, y/n?" Negan asked softly as he padded his way quietly to your bed, sitting on the edge beside your feet. His white shirt seemed to glow in the darkness, as if it were under a black light.  
You nodded slightly.  
  
The dreams didn't occur nightly, but the events of that night on Hershel Greene's farm haunted you daily. Standing in that barn, screaming for help - you'd never felt more alone. And nothing hurt more than when you saw your father making his escape on his motorcycle, Carol clutching him desperately from behind as they rode away. He'd abandoned you, just as everyone else had. They'd left you to burn in the barn you'd initially run into to save Carl and Rick.  
  
You absent-mindedly rubbed at the raised and bumpy surface of your scarred skin, traces of where the fire had eaten away the flesh on your neck, arm and torso.  
  
"It's okay, kid. You're safe," he said caringly.  
  
By some miracle, the flames hadn't totally burned your body to a crisp - you'd managed to escape, eventually dragging yourself into an old furniture store some way from the farm, where the Saviors had found you. After a 'Holy _shit_, kid. What the hell happened to you?' followed by a charming white smile, you'd been under Negan's care - and you were grateful. He treated you well, clothed you, fed you, kept you safe. You knew how he forced other people and communities to give half of their supplies to the Saviors, but that didn't matter. He did it to provide for people; he did it to survive.  
  
"Can I go out tomorrow?" You asked, your voice heavy with sleep. Negan sighed and placed a hand on your leg through the thick comforters.  
  
"You wanna burn shit again?"  
  
You nodded in response. It was the only thing that seemed to lift the heavy veil that fell over your heart after the bad dreams. Creating your own flames, controlling them so that they couldn't hurt you... It gave you a sense of power and satisfaction. It also stopped the voices.  
  
"Shit, kid. Soon there's gonna be nothing left," Negan chuckled, but you knew he was okay with it. He was an understanding guy. At face-value he probably seemed like a narcissistic asshole, and you saw that side too sometimes, but that was just the outer layer. He was like a Russian doll.  
  
"Get some rest," he instructed and you obeyed, hoping the dreams would stay away the second time around.  
  
****  
  
"Want me to come with you?"  
  
You shoved a piece of freshly baked bread in your mouth, courtesy of one of the workers. It was still warm, making you moan slightly. You looked at Simon, shaking your head in response.  
  
"I'll be fine," you said while gesturing to to the gun and machete attached to your belt. You'd done it a million times before.  
  
_He has to come with. Tell him to come with, otherwise you'll die. You'll die._  
  
_No! He can't come. He's trying to kill you. He's trying to get you alone so he can kill you._  
  
You rubbed your fingers against your temples, head jerking suddenly and violently.  
"Stop it," the words just tumbled out of your mouth, a futile attempt to silence the voices.  
Simon frowned a little, his thick eyebrows furrowed. Only a few people knew about your schizophrenia, which you were grateful for, but those who did know always shot looks of sympathy or sadness your way. It made you feel weak.  
  
"Don't look at me like that," you snapped harshly, despite knowing that Simon had good intentions. He raised his hands in the air defensively before muttering an apology.  
  
"Cool. Take the walkie-talkie just in case though," he held out the bulky black device, his eyes tired. "See you in a few hours, y/n," Simon added before walking away, yelling at one of the workers in the process.  
  
It wasn't a long motorcycle ride before you got to where you wanted to go - a large clearing with a small barn in the center. It was abandoned and dilapidated, and ironically looked just like the one on Hershel's farm. Your heart clenched at the thought as you climbed off the motorcycle, pulling out a box of matches.  
  
It was peaceful, and there didn't seem to be any walkers in close proximity. The fire would soon change that though. Lighting a few of the matches simultaneously, your eyes stared into the small dancing flames.  
  
It was weird how it all turned out. Most people after having almost been burned alive would develop pyrophobia, a fear of fire... but you'd become a pyromaniac. It seemed to develop the same time as the schizophrenia, but admitting these things was about as easy as swallowing a rock.  
  
Slowly walking forward, the air wrapped itself around the tips of the matchsticks, making the tiny tongues of fire swirl and bounce. You tossed it into the open and broken doorway of the barn. It instantly caught alight.  
  
A natural instinct told you to move back, but your feet stayed planted in the ground. The heat from the steadily growing fire warmed your scarred and disfigured body. A scream from above caught you attention.  
  
"Help! Somebody help me!" The girl screamed from the top window of the barn. The girl was you.  
You shut your eyes tight, begging for the hallucination to go away. When you opened your eyes again the girl was gone, but the screaming was still inside your head.  
The beautifully devastating fire fiercely climbed the old wood, making goosebumps rise on your skin. It was beautiful now, controlled. But when the structure fell and the fire erupted into the the sky with a loud _'whoosh',_ now that was the real beauty.  
  
The walkers had yet to come, so you headed back towards your motorcycle to enjoy the view while peace still reigned. And that wasn't for long.  
  
A twig snapped behind you, making you jump and raise your gun at the stranger before you. He had his hands raised in front of him as if he were a criminal surrendering to a large S.W.A.T team. A small beard framed his face, which was kind.  
  
"Back up!" You yelled. It's not like you had to be afraid - you were the one with the gun.  
  
The man took a small step back, hands still raised.  
"I'm not going to hurt you. My name is Aaron," the man, Aaron, said. He nodded towards the burning building.  
"You alright? Do you need help?" Aaron asked kindly, and your weapon lowered slightly at his unexpectedly innocent demeanor.  
Scanning his body, you noticed his clean blue button up shirt and jeans. This man definitely had some decent resources.  
  
"What do you want?"  
  
"Saw the fire, came to check it out," Aaron explained as he lowered his hands back down to his sides.  
"It's only me and one other person. I'm unarmed, but my friend isn't. He should be here any second, but I promise we aren't going to hurt you," he explained slowly, and you nodded.  
"I'm from a commu-"  
  
The bushes on the outskirts of the clearing rustled, and you jerked your weapon towards the movement. An arrow protruded before the rest.  
Shaggy dark hair, faded black jeans, a black button-up and a black leather vest.  
It couldn't be? Could it? Maybe this was just another delusion. Another part of your imagination mixing with your mental disorder to form the perfect image of your father. It just all seemed so real.  
Daryl lowered his crossbow immediately, his eyes wide.  
  
Y/n?" He choked thickly. You didn't know what to feel. Angry? He'd abandoned you, left you to die.  
Angry.  
You were angry.  
It took you a moment before you realized you hated the man standing in front of you.  
He there his crossbow to the ground and stormed towards you, enveloping you in a hug despite the weapon you held in your hands. Pushing him away, tears pricked at your eyes.  
  
"Get away from me, you bastard!" You spat at the man, who stumbled back in surprise at your outburst. Aaron stood quietly observing the confusing scene in front of him.  
  
"What?" Daryl whispered, confused.  
  
The fire crackled behind you, and you felt the fire burn in your chest as real as the fire that burned behind you. Where did you even begin?  
  
It had been a long time. The last time you saw your father was when you'd left the Sanctuary for a few days, just to figure out some things in a space less crowded. You'd spotted them walking on a lonely road - Rick, Carl, Daryl, Carol, and a bunch of new faces you'd never seen before. Overwhelming happiness had coursed through your veins when you realized you'd found them again. You considered approaching so that they knew you were alive, that you'd made it... but you'd overheard Carol talking to your father about Beth and grieving her loss.  
Daryl was mourning Beth. Not you. You had been replaced.  
After that, you'd gotten back to the Sanctuary as fast as possible. They weren't your family. They didn't care about you.  
  
"Y/n, I thought... I thought ya died..." Tears spilled onto Daryl's cheeks. You didn't care.  
  
"Well you sure as hell didn't try to disprove that assumption, did you? You left me to die! You left me to _burn_," you yelled with intense rage, gesturing to your mangled and scarred skin.  
  
"I didn't know you were in... that you were in the barn...I tried ta find ya! I did everythin' I coulda!" Daryl yelled back now, and the argument flung between both him and you like a tennis ball in an intense game, and Aaron was merely a spectator.  
  
"Don't lie to me! You left with Carol! You saved that bitch over me!"  
  
Daryl stepped towards you, anger and sadness fighting for dominance on his face.  
"Don't call her that!"  
  
"Oh right, my bad. I forgot that she's _your_ bitch after you tried so hard to find her fucking kid!"  
  
Daryl flinched. Sophia's death had been a tragedy, sure, but after a long time of contemplation you'd realized that Daryl tried harder to find Sophia than he tried to find you. Not even bothering to consider the fact that you needed your father at the time, he simply vanished for days on end trying to find Carol's girl.  
  
"Don't make this about them! This about ya!" He yelled defensively, his voice was stronger now that it wasn't so clogged up with tears.  
  
"It's always been about them! You never cared about me. Do you know that I found you before? A few months ago in the woods. You were crying," you kept explaining, not caring whether he wanted to listen or not. "You were crying for Beth. Beth Greene. Not for me, not for your own daughter. For Beth."  
  
Fresh tears spilled onto his cheeks, and the building finally collapsed. The fire crackled loudly as the flames consumed the fallen structure.  
  
"I'd had my time to cry over the death of my own damn daughter! But I couldn't keep on bein' weak, so I moved on. But I never forgot ya. And I hate myself for not tryin' harder ta find ya. And I'm sorry," his last few words were a whisper, barely audible above the sound of the fire that you'd created.  
  
Aaron moved towards Daryl and placed a hand on his shoulder, only to have him respond by dropping his head low, shoulders shaking. He was crying.  
  
"Y/n, we have a community. A home. You can come and stay with us, you and you father can be together again. Resolve your issues... you can be a family again," Aaron said desperately. He didn't know you, but the immense amount of care in his voice begged otherwise. For the briefest moment, you considered it.  
  
Maybe you could put aside the issues from the past, maybe you could learn to forgive him. You and your father being reunited again seemed like a faraway dream, though no longer as distant. You could be a family again. Your hate towards Carol and everyone else could be resolved and smoothed out, like a creased sheet of paper. Only you knew that wasn't true. Creased paper never went back to how it should be - instead, wrinkles formed permanently in what was once a smooth, clean surface.  
Things could never go back to how they were.  
  
You stared at Daryl's slumped over shoulders and tear stained face, then turned to look at the roaring fire before heading towards your motorcycle.  
  
"I don't need Daryl," a small part of you flinched at using his real name instead of calling him 'Dad'. he didn't seem like a dad anymore.  
"I already have a family with Negan," you hoisted yourself onto the seat of the bike before the engine roared to life. "Better leave now before the walkers get you. Or don't."  
  
Grabbing the bulky walkie-talkie from your belt, you pushed the button down that opened up communication between you, Simon and Negan.  
"I'm coming home."  
Grass and dirt flung out from behind the back tire as you sped around the two men, then raced forward back home, leaving Daryl behind. Maybe for good this time. 


	3. Requested: Daryl x Sexist!Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Ao3 user Nova: Rick and the group are preparing for war with the Saviors, and they learn of a community hidden deep in the woods that hates men and sees them as lower beings. They finally have a meeting in which all the men must be handcuffed and have their weapons taken away. Once they are inside and meet the leader, daryl sees someone he thought was long dead.
> 
> -Orphan!Sexist!Reader  
-The community is entirely female

Voices filled the room, strong and angry. Your single raised fist silenced the women, a display of the power you had over them.  
A power that had been chosen by them, presumably because they felt they owed you a debt. A hush fell over the large room.   
  
"I know most of you won't like it," you started, eyeing the crowd of women in the room. some seated, some standing - all of them with a serious expression on their face. Their eyes seemed to be filled with worry and fear, but you knew they trusted you. After all, you had saved every single woman in this building. The silence lasted a good few minutes as tension filled up like water flooding a gutter.  
"But we have to help them," you added finally. This final statement earned a few gasps and sighs, as each person looked around as if to survey the reactions of their friends.   
  
"But they're _men_" Amy said, her short blonde hair messy from stress-induced tugging. Dark shadows lay under her eyes in a gentle curve, and your chest tightened slightly. She had been one of the first woman you'd saved, and one of the only original inhabitants of the place you now called home - an old women's shelter hidden deep in the woods called Forest Haven. Amy had fought by you since day one, and you never wanted to disappoint her. But this was different.   
  
"I know," you sighed exasperatingly, "but the man seems genuine."   
  
"Men are never genuine! You know that, y/n!" Another woman called out, and you nodded. You had saved each woman here not from walkers, but by men; men wanting to either rape, steal, or kill. So with a mutual disliking for men and a hunger to survive, you had built a community together. It may seem unreasonable, but the only men you'd ever encountered had always been toxic - before and after the apocalypse. Being an orphan meant that you didn't even have a father figure to look up to, so based on your experiences it was safe to assume that all males were not to be trusted. Everyone in your community agreed.   
  
Scavenging for weapons and food had been successful, and you'd always managed to stay hidden from what was left of society.  
Forest Haven was like a well oiled machine consisting of women and willpower.  
Up until a few days ago.   
  
Everyone was on high alert one morning when a group had entered the perimeter and the guards had warned everyone. They'd been surrounded in no more than 2 minutes. The group had consisted of two women and two men. Hands raised in the air and desperation in their eyes had already displayed their lack of will to harm us, but we will still cautious.   
  
The four had introduced themselves as Tara, Michonne, Aaron and Rick. They had come to ask for help to fight against a group called the Saviors, a group that plundered and terrorized and killed.   
  
"How did you find us?" A small woman had asked, her gun pointed at the man - Rick's- face.   
  
"We've been watching for a while," the other man interjected.  
"One of our men is an excellent tracker, and he came across your base here about a week ago. He saw your weapons, your stability. Thought we could use your help."   
  
Looks of disbelief were exchanged. We'd been stalked and none of us had realized it.   
  
"Will you help us or not?" The dark-skinned woman had asked impatiently, a long thick dreadlock hanging in front of her face.   
  
"Why should we help you?" You finally asked. Rick, who seemed to be the leader, stared straight into your eyes, and a look of utter determination filled his own.   
  
"Because if you don't, the Saviors will eventually find you. And once they do, you will lose everything. Your food. Your weapons. Your people. Your sense of safety. But if you help us take out the Saviors and their leader, you won't have to suffer what any of us have had to," his voice broke slightly and his eyes turned glossy. Tears threatened to spill.   
  
"What did this guy even do to you?"   
  
Tears welled up and a thousand yard stare seemed to take the place of the determination in his eyes.   
  
"He killed two of our people. Bashed their heads in with a baseball bat while everyone watched. He made a pregnant mother watch her husband die, and he _laughed_. Then he took one of our own, the tracker, treated him like an animal. They starved him... kept him naked... made him look at pictures of the bashed-in remains of ..." Rick broke off, needing a moment before continuing.  
"If you help us win," he whispered, "you will be safe from the real evil."   
  
Everyone looked at each other, weapons still raised towards the group. These Saviors and their leader were twisted as hell. Whether you liked men or not, it was inhumane to do any of those things to anyone. A new sense of fear seemed to fill the air.   
  
"That, and you'll get a portion of whatever we get from their base once we've killed them all. Which will be a shit ton of supplies," the dark-haired girl, Tara, said. You decided you liked her.   
  
After safely securing the group in a locked room, everyone had gathered in the main dining hall to decide what was going to be done.   
  
"It doesn't matter. They need our help. Their community surely has more women that need our rescuing. If we don't help them and something happens, some of that blood will be on our hands, and I don't know about you girls but I'm not ready to let multiple communities die because we were too chicken-shit to fight," you huffed and walked towards the exit of the room before adding, "we're helping them. Let's show 'em that us women can kick ass."   
  
Without waiting for backup, you marched into the small bedroom containing the group. Their heads snapped up expectantly, and you spoke.   
  
"We'll help, but on one condition."   
  
Silence filled the room before Tara shrugged impatiently.   
  
"You gonna tell us what that is, or what?"   
  
"Your community, group, whatever. We have a lot to discuss. I need all of you back in two days, including the one that found us," you ordered, your voice sharp and demanding.   
  
"The one who tracked you is in the wood now. His name is Daryl. We can get him if you need to talk to him," Aaron said gently. he seemed calmer than all the rest, as if he'd had to deal with much less. Memories of your old life flooded to the surface at the name he'd mentioned. There had been only one decent guy you'd met in your entire life, and his name had been Daryl. You'd grown up together, seeing as he'd lived only a few blocks away from the orphanage you were kept in. Years had been spent with him, from pretending to be hunters in nearby woods, to sneaking out at midnight to meet in the park and drink vodka - he'd been your best friend. But he was dead. Pretty much everyone was dead.   
  
You shook your head, brushing the memory away.   
  
"No, it's fine. Just be here in two days. And bring the tracker then," you ordered before escorting the group out of Forest Haven.   
  
Out in the forest you caught a glimpse of the man, Daryl, seeing his cold eyes look at you from between the trees. A chill went down your spine, and you turned away from the group, heading back to the safety of Forest Haven.   
  
***   
  
Just as instructed, exactly two days later you saw a large group of people heading towards Forest Haven, weapons in hand. There were about a dozen people in total, and it pleased your friends to see that a large number of them were women.   
  
Amy, Nicole, Hope and a few other ladies rushed forward to face the men in the group, demanding their weapons. After reluctantly handing their guns over, they were cuffed.  
Tara raised her eyebrows questionably.   
  
"Just for safety. We don't trust men," you explained quietly in her ear. The large group was lead to the what was known as the courtyard of your community, a dusty and leaf-covered paved area, and you scanned each of their faces. You recognized Tara, Michonne, Rick and Aaron. Among them was a young boy with a bandage covering his eye, a handful of strong and beautiful women, and a group of men, all of them unrecognizable except for one.   
  
His cold steely eyes stared at you once again, mostly covered by dark greasy hair that hung lazily in front of his face as if he was trying to hide. He was the tracker, Daryl. Something about him seemed to spark something inside me, as if someone had lit fireworks and I was watching them from 20 miles away.   
  
"So do you have a name? We skipped the pleasantries a few days ago," Rick asked, breaking your trance. You turned away from the tracker and faced the leader, now cuffed.   
  
"Y/n," the low voice came from behind you, sending a chill down your spine once again.   
  
"What?" You froze. Amy froze too, as well as a few others. You hadn't told anyone of the strangers your name.   
  
"Nothin'," Daryl grumbled, and you turned to face him.   
  
"How the hell do you know my name?" You spat. It wasn't anger, more like fear. Forest Haven was supposed to be safe and hidden, but how safe and hidden could it have been if some random guy knew your name? That means he'd watched your community for long enough to know your name, and he'd gone undetected.   
  
"I think her name is y/n," you heard Tara whisper, before hearing Rick respond with a quick 'shut up'.   
  
"Ya don't remember do ya?" Daryl looked down as the ground. Your heartbeat slowly quickened - it couldn't be, could it? It wasn't possible. You'd grown up on the other side of the country, slowly making your way here through time. It couldn't be him.   
  
"Remember what?" You questioned, your voice visibly softer. Daryl shook his head slightly, face cold.   
  
"Nothin'."   
  
Your eyes met Amy's, which where pulled up in confusion. Only then had you realized that everyone was watching the two of you, even the people you didn't know. Ignoring them and the obvious heat that flushed into your face, you turned your attention back to the man.   
  
"Daryl... Dixon?" You breathed, warmth spreading like fire in your eyes, an early warning sign that tears were coming. The man nodded, and suddenly you saw him. His shaggy dark hair was once cropped short, and his face cleaner, no stubble. But those blue eyes were the same, and that voice, roughened by years of underage smoking.   
  
In an instant, you flung your arms around him. The women gasped, disgusted and shocked by your affection towards a man, but you didn't care. It took you a moment before you realized Daryl's hands were cuffed. With one look, Nicole instantly rushed forward and unlocked the handcuffs, allowing Daryl to wrap his arms around you.   
  
He'd never been one for physical affection, you remembered, but times like these were different. Tears spilled down your cheeks and your arms wrapped tightly around his torso.   
  
"I've missed you so much," you cried into his chest, not caring how pathetically weak you must look. A sniff indicated that Daryl was crying too, and you held him tighter. It had suddenly dawned on you that Daryl had been the one treated like an animal by the Saviors, starved and abused, and a blind rage seemed to fill your chest, only displayed by more crying.   
  
"I've missed ya too," he responded softly, shyly.   
  
When you finally pulled apart and wiped the tears from your face, you could see the torn looks on the faces of your friends. Uncaring, you turned to Rick's group.   
  
"Discussion be damned. We'll fight - all of us. Let's get these Savior bastards."   
  
Fighting meant risking a lot, but if it meant that you could keep Daryl safe, it was worth it. 


	4. "I've had worse scratches from my sister's kitten"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *set in between season 3 and season 4*

"Can I slide in a small request?" Michonne said quietly, her face stern. You turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowed.  
  
"What is it?"  
  
A moment of hesitation passed before Michonne finally spoke, the seriousness of her voice making you slightly nervous.  
  
"Snickers. Kit-Kat. Butterfinger, whatever you can find. Please. I'm begging you." Desperation filled her voice as if her life depended on her single request for a candy bar. A laugh bubbled from your lips as you shook your head.   
  
"I'll try my best, though I can't guarantee its freshness," you stated as you made a mental note to look for any form of chocolate on your supply run.  
  
"As long as it has sugar and has more than a hundred calories, I don't care if it's decades old," Michonne retorted and offered you a small smile.  
  
"Be safe," she instructed finally before turning away from you.  
  
Daryl leaned against the car with arms crossed, waiting patiently for you. Tyreese already had the engine running, and soon the three of you were exiting the prison grounds. The sun was fresh and sharp having just risen, and the blinding golden rays streamed through the windows. From the backseat, you watched as golden strips of light cut across Daryl's skin, almost making him glow. He looked beautiful. He absentmindedly chewed on a fingernail while he and Tyreese exchanged quiet conversation.  
  
An aura of tiredness filled the car. It was early, and runs weren't a fun part of surviving - though they were necessary. The prison ran out of food quickly despite the rationing, so scavenging for supplies became more frequent. Most of the time it was you and Daryl out hunting for food. The two of you worked exceptionally well together - your bubbly yet sarcastic disposition paired well with his hostility and dryness, and you found yourself enjoying time with Daryl. He was cold and stern, but beneath the tough exterior was a heart of gold. You'd clearly seen that throughout the months. This was occasionally reinforced by meaningful conversations shared between the two of you on late night watches, or laying beside a fire in the woods. He was a good person.  
  
"Y/n, you still awake?" Tyreese said loudly, making you wince.   
  
"Am now, asshole," you joked with a small chuckle, and Daryl glanced at you out the corner of his eye, his lip tugged up at the corner.  
  
After a few more minutes of driving, the car entered into a desolate town and the three of you stepped out, weapons ready. Everything looked ransacked. Windows were smashed in, and walls were covered in grafitti. _The end is here. Repent and get saved. They're coming. We're all dead. You're dead._  
  
A small chill ran down your spine, and the two men also seemed unsettled by the writing on the wall. It was hard to get used to things like that. It added to the feeling of impending doom that always seem to loom at the back of everyone's minds. Walkers snarled in the distance. None of them seemed nearby, but everyone knew it was best to get in and get out before they became a problem.  
  
"There," Tyreese pointed out a large building with a faded sign - what once was presumably a Walmart. Quickening up the pace, you headed into the building.  
  
Daryl stepped protectively in front of you, crossbow raised. He scanned the massive room before walking forward towards the shelves.  
  
"Let's split up," you suggested in a whisper. The large man nodded before Daryl interjected.  
  
"No, no way. Ya stick with me," he instructed, making you roll your eyes despite the warmth that filled your heart.  
  
"I can fight. It'll be quicker if we split up," you motioned to your gun and knife.   
  
"She's right," Tyreese agreed, earning a glare from the archer. After a moment he reluctantly agreed, and you went different ways.  
  
The shelves were not entirely empty, but most of the canned goods were gone. The only things left were the things most people didn't want to eat - beans, tuna, clams, vienna sausage. You placed the available tins in your backpack before heading to the candy aisle. Your heart sunk when you saw that it was totally barren. All the racks were empty, save for a single bag of marshmallows that had been ripped open and spilled all over. Defeated, you dropped to your knees.  
  
"Why the candy?" You muttered bitterly to yourself, letting out a huge sigh.  
  
"Ya say something?" Daryl called out from somewhere else in the store, and you shook your head stupidly before realizing that he couldn't see you.  
  
"Just talking to myself," you called back. In a last effort, you bent down to scan the deep dark depths beneath the metal shelving. Shining your flashlight underneath, all there was to be seen was an ungodly amount of spiderwebs and dust. Then something glinted in the artificial light. Desperately you crawled forward to reach for the shining object. With a crinkle, you pulled out the dusty bar. Baby Ruth. Hell yeah. A big smile plastered onto your face and you pocketed the candy bar - Michonne was going to be happy. She hadn't asked for anything since arriving at the prison. All she did was help out as much as she could and stayed out of the way. The two of you had become close friends in the short time that Michonne had been at the prison, but it might as well have been years of friendship. It sure as hell felt that way sometimes.  
  
"Guys we got company!" Tyreese yelled, snapping you out of your daze. Raising your gun you shot up off the floor and headed towards the sound of his voice, now noticing hungry growls.  
  
"Holy shit."  
  
A steady stream of walkers flowed through the single open door of the Walmart, while dozens more were pressed against the large window panes, blocking our exit. Arrows fired from beside, and you glanced at Daryl. He was focused. You and Tyreese followed suit, firing your guns at the grotesque and hungry walkers. Their jaws snapped loudly. With a sudden shatter, one of the large window panes gave in under the pressure of the walkers, allowing them entrance.  
  
"Shit," Daryl muttered. Fear pulsed through you as you kept firing, though it seemed pointless. The unmistakable click of an empty mag sent frustration coursing through your head. You flung your gun towards a biter with only half a face, then pulled out your knife. Rushing forward into the oncoming creatures, you stabbed them relentlessly in their decaying heads, one by one.  
  
"We gotta go," Tyreese said breathlessly as he motioned towards the rest of the building. There had to be another exit. You nodded as you turned away from the creatures and hurried towards Daryl, who placed a warm hand on your arm.  
  
"Ya okay?" He asked quietly, his low voice rumbling through your chest. His eyes were simultaneously cold and warm, paradoxical like him. Soft and hard. Cold and warm. Where his fingers touched your skin sent waves of electricity through your body, making your stomach tighten.  
  
"Yeah," you breathed softly, your eyes staring straight into his.  
  
"Seriously guys, not the time. We gotta go now."  
  
With the moment broken, the three of you ran through the array of shelves. In the distance was another loud shatter. Then another. Then another. No more glass.  
Panic rose in your chest along with the increasing sense of urgency. They were coming, fast. Tyreese fired his last few rounds at the herd of walkers that just rounded the corner, and Daryl continued to fire his arrows - which would eventually run out.  
  
"Tyreese, find the exit. We'll hold them off," you barked as you stabbed your blade through a half-exposed temple. The man paused for a moment, contemplating arguing, then nodded and headed out of sight. One particularly gross walker had been split up the torso, and its bowels hung out of it like putrid sausage. Its jaw hung limply from its rotting face, tongue lolling out like a smelling slab of meat. Bile rose in your throat and you shut your eyes.  
  
It was a stupid thing to do.  
  
Suddenly you were down on the ground. Fingers clawed at your ankle and a new set of nails clawed at your stomach, ripping open your skin. A small scream erupted from you as you shoved your arm forward, blocking the thing from chewing your face. A series of other pains burned their way onto your body like fire, and tears streamed down your face.  
  
The walker by your face suddenly stilled, as did the other ones surrounding you. In one swift motion, Daryl pulled you up into his arms and sped towards a small, dingy bathroom.  
The fear in his eyes seemed to scare you more than the intensity of the situation.  
  
He threw down his crossbow and instantly surveyed your wounds, paying attention the scratches on your abdomen. Blood seeped out of the slits and onto the beige tiled floor, making you feel slightly sick.  
  
"Shit, y/n," Daryl's voice was laced with panic. His hands pressed against the wounds to stop the bleeding.  
  
"It's not so bad. I've had worse scratches from my sister's kitten," you joked, though your attempt at humor failed miserably. Anger flashed across the man's face.  
  
"This ain't a joke, y/n!" He yelled, making you flinch. Black spots danced into your vision and you shook your head slightly. It only made you more dizzy.  
  
"You're right. The joke is you focusing on the scratches," you said lazily, staring into Daryl's fearful eyes. A puzzled expression crossed his face. Sighing, you pulled yourself into a half-sitting position before pulling off your tattered shirt. Daryl blushed heavily before turning to a deathly pale shade when he spotted the fresh bite in the side of your torso.  
  
"No, no, no. No," he said repeatedly, his hands suddenly by the bite as if he could heal it. He couldn't. His head shook repeatedly, shaking free a few teardrops which spilled onto your blood-soaked skin.  
  
"'S okay, Daryl," you said softly, gently placing your hand on his warm arm. Death was inevitable. Everyone knew that.   
  
"Don't you _dare_ say that," Daryl growled.  
  
"It really is, it's okay. I'm not afraid of dying," you reassured him, though it was a lie. Everyone is afraid of dying. Especially when they have to die in front of the person they loved.  
  
"Ya ain't gonna die. I'm not lettin' that happen. Ya gonna be fine, y/n. Ya gonna be fine," the archer's voice was now thick, choked by tears. Your own tears spilled onto your face as you watched him stare helplessly at your dying body.  
  
"Don't let me turn."  
  
Daryl looked at you, and for the first time you saw that he was broken. His mouth was turned down at the corners, and tears spilled down his cheeks in a steady flow, hair covering his face. Your hand found his blood-covered one as you passed him the Baby Ruth bar, also covered in blood. Your blood.  
  
"Please give this to Michonne," you whispered and your eyes slowly fluttered shut. You were tired.  
  
"Open ya eyes, y/n. Stay with me. Stay awake," Daryl pleaded as he gripped your hand, his other hand on your overheating face. It was now a battle whether you would die from blood loss or from the infection. This was one competition that you wished neither would win.  
  
"I'm just tired," your voice was barely audible, sending blind fear through Daryl's body.  
  
He never got close because he knew this day would come, but now it was here, he wish he did. He wished he'd told you how he felt. He wished he'd spent every single waking second with you, rather than attempt to distance himself. But now it didn't matter, because you were dying and it hurt all the same. God, how it _hurt._  
  
"Stay with me," Daryl pleaded finally, before he did it.  
Heart beating so fast he thought it would explode, Daryl place both hands on the side of your face and gently placed his lips against yours. All the times he wanted tell you how he felt, all the times you'd shared watching the stars, all the moments of ineffable feelings between the two of you filled that single kiss. His lips against yours felt like his heart growing warm and his heart shattering at the same time. It was warm because he loved you. It shattered because he knew that he would never be able to kiss you again. He would never be able to have more moments with you.  
  
"Finally," you muttered weakly when you broke apart. Your heart would have been beating fast if it weren't pumping slowly and thickly in a futile attempt to keep you alive. New tears lined your face as you stared into Daryl's swollen eyes. Your heart broke at the sight.  
  
"'S okay, D."  
  
He shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, placing his forehead against yours. He felt your warm, slow breaths against his face. The words were about to leave his lips; those three words that he'd been itching to say for the longest time. But then he realized it didn't matter anymore, because he no longer felt your breaths on his face. They had stopped.  
You were gone. 


	5. Daryl x Daughter!Reader: Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 to the requested Daryl x Daughter!Reader.
> 
> *Set in season 7*

Sherry passed the bottle to you, and you gratefully took it from her, gulping down the burning honey-colored liquid. Her hazel eyes stayed trained on the floor.   
  
"Don't think about it too much, Sher," you said softly, looking at her.   
  
"Easier said than done," the woman scoffed, her voice miserable but gentle. You knew the feeling all too well.   
  
The two of you were perched in the small stairwell - a safe space to talk where no one would be listening. Sherry had become increasingly worried in the last few weeks. Tensions had been high in the Sanctuary for reasons unknown to you or any of Negan's wives. His charming white smile was constantly betrayed by a worrying glint in his eyes, and you knew something was off. The men had being going out more frequently, talking in hushed voices. Something was up. Dwight, who you knew Sherry still cared for deeply, was among the men that were hardly ever home anymore. She couldn't help but let the worry eat at her, soothing it only with copious amounts of alcohol and late-night conversations with you; her best friend.   
  
"Has he told you anything?" She asked, eyebrows furrowed. Her small hand reached for the bottle.   
  
You shook your head, a small frown on your face. Negan had been acting strange, and it concerned you. The paranoia that constantly manifested in your mind tried to convince you that it was your fault, and that Negan knew about your encounter with your father - only he didn't know about it, and had no idea who your father was. When you asked him what was going on, he replied simply with a smile and a 'don't you worry about a thing, sunshine.' It was frustrating. The fact that Negan treated you like a daughter had it's downsides - one of them being that he always felt the need to protect you, to shield you from the truth. That's the last thing you wanted.   
  
"It's just because he doesn't trust you. That's why he doesn't tell you anything. You're just a kid, just a weight on his shoulders. That's why he doesn't tell you anything," her voice was harsh, and your eyes snapped up to meet hers.   
  
"What?" Your face flushed angrily, startled at her words.   
  
Sherry looked up at you with a puzzled look on her face.   
  
"What?" She questioned.   
  
It took you a moment to realize Sherry hadn't spoken. You shook your head in response, grabbing the bottle of whiskey from her. It felt as if your hallucinations and delusions had been getting worse, which they quite possibly were considering the circumstances. The voices were louder and meaner, like your mind was a crowded room full of debating people. The auditory hallucinations had scared you the most - hearing people say things that they never actually said. It had worried you most when you heard a loud cheery song playing from the forbidden parts of the Sanctuary, only to be relieved when you found out that it wasn't a hallucination. There had actually been music playing. A stupid song, something about easy street.   
  
"We should go to bed before anyone notices we're missing," you said softly, avoiding Sherry's concerned gaze. She wasn't that much older than you, but it felt as if she had the same care as that of a mother.   
  
"Yeah," she responded as she watched you gulp down the remaining whiskey, leaving the bottle empty.   
  
****   
  
Five days. That stupid song had played every day, once a day without fail, for five days. It was unsettling considering that the annoyingly happy song had been coming from the part of the Sanctuary where the prisoners were kept in isolation. If it was a form of punishment, it sure was a good one. Somehow having a happy song play perpetually while being held captive and tortured seemed to be worse than having your face burned with a hot iron.   
  
It had also taken you five days until curiosity got the best of you. Mustering up all the confidence you had, you snuck your way through the maze of corridors to were you had heard the music coming from. Negan's methods of making people surrender to him were often inhumane, but necessary - though it didn't make it any less unpleasant to see. You'd seen men cowering in their own filth in corners of a small dark room, and you'd heard personal accounts of such experiences from some of the Saviors who had experienced it firsthand. It made you uncomfortable, so you tended to avoid the isolation corridors. But the music was getting to you.   
  
A large man brushed past you, and you offered a small nod, which he returned. He was probably one of the guards here, now changing shift. Perfect. It was best if no one knew you were there. The hallway was relatively empty, save for a few men marching past you dutifully.   
Then the music started playing.   
  
_"We're on easy street, and it feels so sweet, ' cause the world is 'bout a treat when you're on easy street. And we're breaking out the good champagne, we're sitting pretty on the gravy train... " _  
  
Your sneakers squeaked on the floor as you quickened up the pace, letting the sound guide you the way a scent guides a blood hound. Rounding the corner, you saw Dwight standing by one of the rooms. That's where the music was coming from.   
  
Keeping your head low, you quietly walked down the corridor and past Dwight, who threw something into the cell. You peered out the corner of your eye at the man who hungrily scoffed down whatever stale food Dwight had given him. The immense amount of dirt and sweat covering his skin made him almost unrecognizable, and oily hair stuck to his glistening face.   
  
But you knew exactly who it was.   
  
Wordlessly you rushed passed the cell and ran towards the nearest exit, breaths struggling their way through you as if your lungs were stuffed with cotton balls. The air was hot and stuffy. It felt as if walls were closing in on you, threatening to squeeze you until you burst. A man standing against the outside wall glanced at you, cigarette pressed tightly between his lips.   
  
"You okay?" He asked, a single eyebrow raised. Your breaths became slightly more shallow. Nodding slowly, you gestured towards his cigarette.   
  
"Got anymore of those?"   
  
He nodded, walking over as he fished the box out of his jeans, handing you a smoke. Your fingers shook as you grasped it, making the man eye you warily. He flicked the lighter on and the small flame danced gracefully on the tip, like a ballet dancer on a silver stage. Once your cigarette was lit, you inhaled the smoke which quickly eased your nerves. You pressed your back against the wall, closing your eyes.  
He was here.   
  
_He's following you. He followed you back. He's planning something. You made him angry out by the barn, and now he's coming to kill you. _  
  
_He's come to get you. He still cares about you, and now that he knows you're alive, he's come to redeem himself. To bring you home._   
  
_You are home already - he doesn't want you. The only thing he wants is for you to actually be dead, so that he can live with Carol and Rick's group in peace, without the burden of knowing what you think of him. _  
  
"What happened in there, kid?" His voice tuned you back into reality, and you turned to look at him. You'd seen him around the compound a few times, and was pretty sure his name was Neil or Nick. But you guessed it didn't really matter because everyone around here was 'Negan.'   
  
"Nothin'. Just saw something I would've preferred not to see," you answered almost without emotion. Smoke blew from your lips in light gray swirls, and you stared at the trail until it disappeared into the air.   
  
"Yeah. Gets pretty rough inside there," he said as he threw the remainder of his cigarette on the ground, pressing it flat with the tip of his shoe. The man eyed the visible burn scars on your skin, making you flush.   
  
"You're Negan's kid, right?"   
  
"Something like that," you responded dryly and put out your own cigarette. Keeping your eyes straight ahead, you brushed past the man and headed towards the Sanctuary's exit.   
  
You had a lot to figure out.   
  
****   
  
It was around 11 p.m when you arrived back home, pleased to find out that Negan and most of the Saviors were out. Good - you didn't need anybody questioning your abrupt disappearance.   
  
The guards at the gate nodded a greeting as they let you in, and you lifted a hand in response. You silently wished that they didn't tell Negan about your late-night arrival, not that it would be a big deal, but things were just easier if he didn't know anything. The last thing you wanted was for Negan to find out that Daryl was your father.   
  
Letting your legs lead you rather than your head, you ended up right where you least wanted to be.  
The corridor was empty; Fat Joey must be on duty. Your eyes stayed trained on the door for a solid three minutes before you nervously sat down beside the door. It was completely silent aside from the soft breathing you heard from within the room.   
  
"Daryl?" You whispered softly, though it seemed loud.   
  
No answer. You waited for a moment before speaking again.   
  
"Dad?"   
  
Then you heard a shuffling noise, followed be unstable breathing. This wasn't a good idea. Why were you even trying to him? You hated him.   
  
"Y/N?" Daryl's muffled voice filtered through the crack beneath the door, and you exhaled shakily.   
  
"Yeah. It's me." Heavy silence followed your words, and it seemed clear that Daryl was still processing the fact that you were alive.   
  
The floor was cold beneath your thin jeans, and your fingers toyed with the overly long sleeves of the hoodie you were wearing. You tried not to think of what state he was in, despite how much you tried to convince yourself you didn't care. What had he done to deserve being here? Most likely starving. Cold. Hurt.   
  
_He let you burnnnnn. Burn burn burn burn burn BURN!_   
  
"I didn't know," your voice was cold... sad. Why?   
  
"What?" He croaked out. By the sound of his voice you could tell he was close to the door, most likely pressed against the same wall you were sitting against.   
  
"I didn't know that Negan had you."   
  
Silence.   
  
"He doesn't who you are. Who I am. That you're my father," you paused for a moment, a dark smile crossing you face before continuing, "If he did know... you'd probably be in a much worse condition."   
  
Negan was protective and had no boundaries when it came to the lengths he would go to in order to get what he wanted. If he knew you were Daryl's daughter, he would have wanted justice - for your sake. And there's no saying what he would do to exact said justice.   
  
"Why are ya here?" His voice felt empty... lifeless. He was probably empty and lifeless considering where he was.   
  
"I don't know," you answered truthfully, biting on your lip. The last you knew of, Daryl was with a man named Aaron. They lived in a community. If he was here, that meant that the Saviors had found the community. Negan would take half of their supplies, and Lucille would claim a few victims. A part of you wondered if Lucille had taken anyone you knew - Rick, Carl, Carol, Glenn, Maggie, T-Dog, Hershel, Beth, Andrea, Lori. A part of you didn't care.   
  
"The sooner you give in, the sooner it will be over."   
  
"I ain't ever gonna surrender to the bastard. Not after what he did," Daryl said softly, his voice breaking.   
  
Everyone felt like that at some point. Fat Joey. Dwight. Sherry. All of Negan's other wives. The rest of the Saviors. All of them eventually gave in, knowing when they've lost. But the only difference was that you knew your father. He was one stubborn son of a bitch.   
  
"You can make this easier for yourself," you said to the door, leaning your head against the cool wall.   
  
"Ya sound just like him," Daryl snarled weakly.   
  
"It's true though. You don't have to suffer."   
  
Daryl was silent for a moment, uttering a small cough that seemed to tighten up his whole body. You listened carefully for anymore sounds, a small part of you expecting him to just go still and never regain consciousness again.   
  
"Why're ya tryin' to help me? Ya said ya hate me," he finally spoke.   
  
"I guess," you hesitated.  
"But I know you... and I know you don't belong in here."   
  
Your fingers moved to the crack beneath the door, reaching out slightly. Grimy fingers squeezed your own. After a second, you shot up of the floor and headed out of the corridor, towards your room. 


	6. Daryl x Daughter!Reader: Part 3

The next morning upon stumbling out of bed, you'd discovered Negan was back. The loud yelling gave it away. Groggily you pulled on some fresh clothes and brushed your teeth, then headed out of your room.  
  
Last night's events felt like a veil placed over your mind, covering everything else. Another nightmare had plagued you when you fell asleep. You couldn't remember the dream, but the feeling it left still hung in your mind like a heavy cloud; refusing to rain but refusing to leave, simply remaining only to cast a shadow.  
  
"You look like shit, kid," Negan smiled as you approached him, swinging Lucille over his shoulder.  
  
"Sweet as ever, asshole," you joked tiredly, stifling a yawn.  
  
"You know I'm just bustin' your little lady balls," he said with a laugh before adding, "Which reminds me - a little birdy told me that you had a night out in the town."  
  
Your stomach dropped in fear. How could he know?  
  
"Getting home at midnight? And you were out there alone? Be glad those dead pricks didn't have you for dinner," Negan shifted his weight, eyeing you sternly. A small smile still lingered on his lips, but you could tell he wasn't happy.  
  
"I'm sorry. I - I just.." Your words stuttered as you fumbled for an excuse, relieved that he wasn't referring to your little adventure in the prisoners corridor.  
  
"Relax, kid. Just give us a warning next time," he sighed and affectionately placed a hand on your shoulder.  
  
The door behind you suddenly opened and Simon's head popped out, the tired lines in his face seeming more defined. You spotted Dwight in the background, looking equally as tired as Simon.  
  
"We need to talk," he said to Negan, briefly turning his attention to you and giving you a small nod.  
  
"Gotta go, kid. Don't stir up too much shit - and no wandering out in the world acting like zombie bait," he ordered as he waved Lucille around, motioning towards everything.  
  
You lightly punched Negan in the arm, saluting him before heading downstairs. Workers bustled loudly below you, and you swore you could smell pancakes. Your stomach grumbled loudly at the thought. Brushing through the crowd of people, you made your way to the lady making the food. People lined up at each station, talking and bustling around like chickens in a coop.  
  
"Twelve points," you heard someone say, followed by another person loudly exclaiming that it was double the amount of points it had been the day before. You sighed, not bothered. It had been weird in the beginning. The system at the Sanctuary seemed unfair and unruly, but after a while you realized it worked. It didn't matter whether these people paid twelve or twelve hundred points for some bread - at least they weren't dead.  
  
As you neared the stall, you saw a neat stacks of fresh pancakes placed on the table next to three women, who skillfully flipped more of the warm treats in pans. Reaching forward, you snagged a few and placed them in your pocket, shoving one into your mouth.  
  
"These are great," you complimented the chefs, who offered you warm smiles.  
  
You made your way out of the chaotic room and into the maze of hallways. A few lefts, a couple rights. You didn't really know why you were heading this way. Perhaps it was out of morbid curiosity - was he dead or alive? Maybe you just wanted to talk to him again.  
  
A few people passed you dutifully in the hallway, not paying special attention to you. As you rounded the corner, you caught sight of a person inching their way forward. You recognized the clothes as that of the prisoners, but the familiar brown hair gave away their identity. Rushing forward, you grabbed the grimy beige sweatshirt. Daryl gasped, spinning around to face you. This was bad.  
  
Fear and desperation filled his usually cold eyes. Movement up ahead caught your attention, and you turned to face Daryl. It didn't matter how he got out - what mattered was him being caught out. You stared into his eyes, as if to get the message across by merely looking at him.  
  
"Go back while you can," you said quietly, your voice slow and stern, eyes wide.  
"Whatever he's done to you, there's more. There's always more. You won't get away."  
Your hold on his shirt tightened, and he trembled beneath your grip.  
"And when you get back," you continued, "it'll be worse."  
  
You shoved him in the direction of his cell. Daryl turned around to look at you.  
'Go,' you mouthed before turning away from him and heading into a different hallway. You couldn't be caught out here, least of all with an escaped prisoner. It didn't matter if Negan cared about you. You knew what it would look like.  
  
Minutes passed and your mind raced. It seemed like the best option to just book it out of there and go about your day. Go hang out with Sherry. Enjoy the warm outside sun. Behave, like Negan instructed, and mind your own damn business.  
But that was an option you never even considered.  
  
Turning on your heel, you raced through the building and passed your father's cell. The door was ajar - he wasn't in there. No no no no no. If anyone found him, he was dead meat. he was going to end up as one of the walkers that were kept in front of the Sanctuary. No on wanted that fate.  
  
You hurried forward to the exit, stopping when you heard the whistle. Negan's whistle. Your heart raced at a million miles per second, and you reached for the small window on the door, viewing the scene outside. There standing clear as day was Daryl. Surrounded by ten other guys. You recognized Fat Joey, and the man who gave you a cigarette. The rest you didn't know. The one that scared you the most was the man with the leather jacket and the baseball bat.  
  
You watched in fear as Negan approached your dad, who was standing helplessly among the men. His head was lowered, reminding you of his brokenness. But there was still an aura of strength around him, though not for much longer, you suspected.  
  
"Are we pissin' our pants yet?" Negan said. He cocked his head slightly and grinned, facing his escaped prisoner.  
  
"Who are you?" He asked in a way that sounded more like an order, not a question. Your stomach tightened as you silently urged Daryl to respond with 'Negan'. That's all he had to say. Just one name.  
  
_Just walk away! walk away right now! You don't give a shit about him. Let him suffer, just like he let you suffer._  
  
_Stay._  
  
"Shut up," you muttered to yourself.  
  
The Saviors responded with 'Negan', earning a pleased smile from the boss. He stared at Daryl, who remained silent.  
  
"You see that? I am everywhere," he bounced slightly, gesturing to the men, "and this was your shot to prove to me that that fundamental fact was sinking in - and you failed. Which sucks because your life was about to get so much cooler." Lucille lazily swung around in the air, making your heart leap.  
  
If only he'd listened to you. It was hard to blame him, considering that anyone would escape captivity given the chance, but you couldn't help but feel angry at him. And slightly afraid.  
  
Negan continued talking, but you couldn't hear what he was saying over the sound of your heart beat. Why were you so worried?  
Some of the hate towards Daryl had subsided after your encounter at the barn, instead replaced by indifference. Indifference was worse than hate. But the comfortable feeling of not giving a shit what happened to him was slowly inching away, like water seeping out of your hands.  
  
"... this is the only way," Negan ended his speech, and you peered nervously at him. His tongue licked at his bottom lip, something that he only did when he was angry. Daryl stood his ground like a dead leaf clinging to a tree in strong winds. It seemed as if the world went quiet. Negan stared at your father, and he stared back. Time slowed. Breaths stopped. The world stopped moving.  
  
"Screw it," Negan said as he raise Lucille above his head, her trajectory leading straight for Daryl.  
  
You weren't sure why you did it.  
  
The metal door opened under your weight and tears burned your eyes.  
  
_"Dad!"_ You yelled so loud it felt as if your vocal cords were shredding. And your heart stopped. You'd meant to yell 'stop".  
  
Negan turned to you, his eyes wide, baseball belt held an inch from Daryl's face. Everyone was looking at you. A puzzled expression crossed his face as his eyes darted from you to Daryl. Then back to you. Then back to Daryl. Your face burned as tears welled up in your eyes.  
  
"You've got to be _shitting_ me," He waved Lucille between the two of you. It was difficult to tell whether he was angry, shocked, hurt, or all three.  
  
"Don't do it," you pleaded, avoiding eye contact with Daryl and the other Saviors, whose jaws were practically hanging on the floor. The man stared at you with a smirk, but his eyes showed anger. A minute passed. Then two. Then three.  
  
"I'm gonna go get me a drink," he finally spoke, not once taking his eyes off you. Negan casually walked towards you, stopping when he got to the door. He whistled the tune - his tune. Then grabbing your arm, he lead you back inside the building. Then you heard the sound of heavy punches and grunts from outside - they were beating him.  
  
****  
  
The clock read 3 am. Tiptoeing barefoot through the Sanctuary, you made your way back to his cell door. Your eyes were swollen and burning from crying, and you angrily rubbed them before sitting down by the door.  
  
"Dad?" You whispered, begging for an answer. The indifference had completely vanished, and you'd had the whole day to realize that you didn't want him to die. You still cared about him, regardless of what he did to you.  
  
"'M here," Daryl mumbled tiredly. Relief washed over you and you sighed, placing a hand to your forehead.  
  
"You okay?"  
  
No answer.  
  
You placed your hands in the pocket of your jacket, feeling for the pancakes you'd stored. Grabbing two, you carefully slid them under the door. It took a second before you heard him hungrily scoff down the food.  
  
"Slow down. You'll get sick," you warned him softly, staring in the dark.  
  
"Where are the guards?" Daryl mumbled eventually from behind the door. You smiled to yourself, despite everything.  
  
"Only come when Fat Joey is on watch." He was lazy, and had a habit of clocking out 10 minutes into his shift.  
  
"Negan. What did he do to you?" He questioned carefully, his voice menacing despite his helplessness.  
  
"Nothing," you shrugged in the darkness before wrapping your arms around your knees.  
"Told him I had no idea you were here, and that I'd just heard the commotion and decided to check it out."  
  
"He wants to hurt you because of what you did to me," you added softly, eyes drifting closed. Daryl didn't respond.  
  
"Did you know," you started, unsure of whether you should continue or not. But he needed to know.  
"Did you know," you repeated, "that I have schizophrenia?"  
  
Saying the words out loud made it seem crazier than it actually felt, and you shuddered slightly.  
  
"All because I was left in that barn to die... I hear voices in my head all the time. I have delusions. Hallucinations. Sometimes I can't even tell what's real anymore. Just your everyday symptoms of severe psychosis. And I love to burn shit...pyromania, is what it's called."  
"All because of you," you added darkly.  
  
The silence was almost deafening. Your breaths flowed out evenly, contrasting the shallow and uneven breaths that you could hear from inside the room. There in the darkness it was just the two of you, and you dared to say you almost felt at peace. Just you and Daryl. Two heart beats - one strong, one not. Two bodies - one healthy, one not. Two minds - both broken. Two people - both strong.  
  
"I ain't never meant for any of that ta happen," he whispered finally, making you press your ear against the door.  
"I'm sorry, y/n. I'm sorry. You're my kid an' I let ya down. I left ya for dead. I'm sorry," Daryl choked out, his voice clogged and thick, and you heard his shaky sobbing in the darkness. It hurt. It hurt knowing he was hurt, and you knew he felt the same about you. It's just how it was. A lump formed in your throat and you tried you best to force it away.  
  
"Don't be sorry, Dad. It's not... It's not your fault. It never was." Warm tears trailed down your cheeks. It never was his fault. You'd taken that feeling of abandonment and turned it into rage and hate, directing it to your father. You had hated him for saving Carol. You had hated him for leaving you behind. You had hated him for things that you never should have hated him for, and you saw that now.  
  
"Just," you sniffed, wiping at your swollen eyes, "just hang on okay? I'm gonna get you out of here," you promised him.  
  
It was a promise you were going to keep, no matter the cost. 


	7. Sickfic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aaron calls on y/n to help care for a sick Daryl
> 
> *Set in Alexandria-era before the incident with Denise*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Awkwardly opens up file cabinet containing 10000 excuses as to why I haven't been updating*  
Hey guys!  
Okay so in all seriousness, finals started like 2 weeks ago and I've been so insanely busy. My life literally is just watching the new TWD episode every week, crying, and studying 8 hours a day.  
Every time I have free time, I write! In regards to the requested stories, I promise I'm working on those - I just want them to be as good as possible. Have no fear! They will come.  
In the meantime, have a sick fic!  
Love xxx

Your feet dangled lazily over the edge of the platform as you watched people wander around the cozy streets of Alexandria. Abraham sighed lazily behind you as he kept watch. Although it wasn't always necessary, your group always felt safer knowing someone was on guard, and so did the Alexandrians. You'd been out here with the redhead since midnight, and it was now morning, rendering you bored and Abraham sleepy. The witty banter the two of you shared died as the sun rose and your ability to think sharply dulled.  
  
The peaceful chatter under the lazy Georgian sun was disrupted when you noticed someone running towards the platform. You hopped off of the stairs and onto the warm pavement, eyebrows furrowed. An irritated-looking Aaron hurried towards you, slowing to a jog as he got nearer, a small frown on his clean face.  
  
"What's up?" You asked him, concerned by the frown etched into his face. Aaron was usually calm and smiling, but now he seemed tired and weary as if he'd just returned from war.  
  
"I need your help. It's Daryl," he said with a sigh, running his hands through his curly hair. Your stomach dropped. It couldn't be anything serious, could it? Daryl hadn't left the walls for two days so as far as you knew, he was safe. Unless he wasn't.  
  
"What is it? Is he okay? Did something happen?" The urgency in your voice alerted a half-asleep Abraham, who peered over the railing of the platform at the two of you.  
  
"Everything okay, sunshine?" The redhead questioned, his head peaking over the railing like a meerkat. His orange hair glowed fiercely in the sun as if it were on fire.  
  
"Everything's fine Abraham, I'm just gonna need to borrow y/n for a moment," Aaron responded and turned his attention back to you.  
  
"Aaron you're making me worry, what is it?"  
  
"Just come with me," the man turned away from you and stormed off in the opposite direction.  
  
"Is Daryl okay?" You called out after him, stumbling behind him in an attempt to keep up with his brisk pace. Why wasn't he answering you?  
  
When you finally caught up with Aaron, he lead you into one of the many neat houses that lined the streets. You recognized it as Denise and Tara's home. Raising an eyebrow you faced the man, confused as to why he lead you here. Then you heard it; the unmistakable sound of loud retching coming from the bathroom down the hall.  
  
"Oh my god, y/n, I'm so glad you're here," Denise stormed down the stairs and into the sitting room, sweat lining her stress-ridden face. She nodded at Aaron who gravely returned the nod before sighing and exiting the house.  
  
"Is that-" You were cut off by another loud retching noise, and the woman nodded solemnly.  
  
"He's sick as a dog, but he refuses to come to the infirmary. I brought him here but he just wants to leave all the time," she sighed and removed her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose.  
"You're the only one he'll listen to. Just... get him to bed or something, please."  
  
You smiled at her in a wave of relief - at least he wasn't dead. Just sick. Daryl Dixon never got sick, not once at all since you'd first met him at the prison. He's a tough son of a bitch. That being said, he is human and certainly not immune to a little sickness; in fact, you were a bit surprised it took him this long to contract an illness. Slowly approaching the bathroom door, you knocked quietly on the white wood.  
  
"Daryl?" You called out. From within the bathroom you heard a shuffle and a small grunt. "Can I come in?"  
  
"Don't ya dare, or I'll kick your ass," he mumbled gruffly. A minute later the toilet flushed and Daryl emerged from the bathroom.  
  
"Jesus Christ," you whistled as you took in the sight of him. His not unusually greasy hair clung to his forehead, his oddly pale skin lined with a sweat. Heavy bags lay under his eyes like bruises. You heart pinched slightly.  
  
Not having the energy to snap at you, Daryl merely grunted in response. You wrapped an arm around his waist, allowing him to put some of his weight on you as half-dragged half-carried him out of Denise's house, who whispered a tired 'good luck' as you passed. Daryl pulled himself off of you.  
  
"I can walk on m' own," he said as he stumbled next to you, hunched over like Quasimodo. Sighing, you lead Daryl into your house and into your bedroom upstairs. It was messy, and a part of you regretted not tidying up a bit more often, but somehow you didn't think Daryl cared.  
  
"Lay down," you instructed him. Daryl weakly marched over to the window and yanked it open, fresh air blowing lightly into the room and on his damp skin.  
  
"'M fine," he mumbled as his eyes closed, enjoying the breeze. Aaron and Denise had needed you for a reason - Daryl was stubborn and hard to control, but if he was going to listen to someone, it was going to be you. Everyone knew that the two of you had a bond since the beginning. Daryl and you had become close friends - as close as one could be with a Dixon. Although your feelings ran deeper for him than what he knew, you were happy with how things were. Hunting trips, snappy comments, banter and supply runs had formed the basis of your friendship, so it was safe to say you two had been through thick and thin together.  
  
"You literally threw up like.. twice in the last fifteen minutes. That doesn't classify as fine. Now lay on the goddamned bed," you growled at him and lead him to the double bed, which he reluctantly climbed into, eyeing you with something you couldn't quite pinpoint.  
  
Placing your small hand onto his clammy forehead, you inhaled sharply at the heat that spread through your palm.  
  
"You're hot," you muttered as you made your way into the small en-suite bathroom to grab some medicine and a wet cloth. As you placed the cloth on his face, his hand harshly swatted your away and you frowned.  
  
"Leave me alone, y/n," Daryl snapped like a child having a tantrum. Ignoring the small twinge of pain in your heart, you brushed it off and rolled your eyes, an effective way of hiding hurt, and continued to cool the man's forehead.  
  
"Don't be a dick. You won't to go to the infirmary, fine, but you're under my care for now so just shut up and let me do what I gotta do to get you better," the words shot out of your mouth like the very arrows that shot out of his crossbow, only you said them with good intent rather than fury. You weren't angry per se, merely frustrated at your helplessness.  
  
Daryl closed his eyes and weakly shook his head, his body spread out on the covers like a spatchcock chicken.  
"Just don't want ya ta get sick cause a me," he croaked out, sounding sincere. A smile tugged at your mouth, and you instinctively ducked your head down to hide it, despite his eyes being closed.  
  
"Don't worry about me." A nervous silence filled the room, though the nervous energy was coming only from you. It was unnerving to have someone you cared about be so sick, rendering you helpless for the most part.  
  
"How do you feel?" You removed the cloth from his head and placed it gently on the floor, itching to gently lay your hand on his arm - you didn't dare.  
  
Daryl sat up uncomfortably, his body visibly shaking in every effort to fight off the attack on his immune system. He wrapped his arms around his knees, and his face paled even more than you thought possible.  
  
"Feels like my damn stomach is tryna digest itself." It seemed as though the last word was a trigger, and Daryl's face went from being pale to being pale-green. He leaped up and ran for the bathroom, slamming the door shut before he emptied his stomach contents into the toilet. A small sigh escaped your lips and you hurried downstairs to the kitchen. He'd already vomited three times - food was now absolutely necessary.  
  
You brushed through the kitchen like a hurricane, cracking open a tin of chicken soup in record breaking time. Once the soup was heated, you poured it into a bowl and placed it onto the tray, a slice of bread next to it. Now the tricky part would be getting Daryl to eat it. You had a small feeling that you were going to have to force feed him.  
  
Heavy footsteps caught your attention and your head snapped up. Daryl thudded down each step and across the room, his head threatening to roll off his shoulders. You watched him curiously before you saw him reach the front door. Abandoning the food, you rushed towards him and placed yourself between his feverish body and the door.  
  
"House arrest, remember?" You placed your hands on his chest and slowly lead him backwards towards one of the lounge sofas. He sighed and glared at you; if looks could kill, you'd be six feet under.  
  
"Y/n, I'm fine, I ain't gonna drop dead or anythin'," he said, but the way he looked begged to differ.  
  
"Damn right you ain't gonna drop dead. Not on my watch, anyways." You bounced your way into the kitchen and grabbed the food, bringing it to him. Daryl eyed the warm liquid distastefully as he shook his head. Frustration flared in your chest.  
  
"Look, Dixon. You can either be a man and eat the goddamned food, or I'll spoon it into your face hole myself," you shot him a look as if you were daring him to try you.  
  
"Real mature," he scoffed. But he reached for the bread and started taking small bites, so you knew you'd won. Placing yourself next to him, you rested your arm on the back of the sofa and watched him subtly. Regardless of his soaked hair, sweaty face and pale skin, he seemed to look even more attractive than usual. The wildness in him was gone, replaced by a sort of vulnerability that was almost intoxicating in its scarcity. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, turning his head fully when he noticed me staring, looking like a deer in the headlights.  
  
"Whatcha starin' at?" He asked as he swallowed the last piece of bread, almost shy.  
  
"Nothin," you shook your head and averted your gaze. You couldn't ever tell him how you felt - you knew that - so you always tried to be happy with just this. But it was times like these when it was just the two of you when it became more difficult to suppress your feelings.  
Daryl shifted on the couch next to you as he lay his body down. To your surprise, he placed his legs on your lap and closed his eyes, exhaling a shaky breath. Carefully,you placed your hands gently on his jean-clad legs. Within seconds he was asleep. His soft snores made you smile as you watched him sleep gently, mesmerized by how childlike he seemed. Leaning your head against the sofa, you slowly drifted out of consciousness, wildly aware of the nearness of the man you loved. 


	8. Daryl x Wiccan!Reader (requested)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Wattpad user Elliane_Blackwing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Set in Alexandria*

You bounced on the balls of your feet, nervous energy coursing through you. You knew you needed to calm down. Closing your eyes, you slowly breathed in and out rhythmically, shaking out your hands as if you were dispelling the negative energy from your fingertips. Your eyes snapped open as Carol spoke.   
  
"You worry too much," she said as she placed her hand on your black-clad shoulder. The oven timer let out a loud shrill and Carol perked up excitedly. Hurrying over to the oven, she pulled out the tray of cookies. The lush warm smell of vanilla filled the air, making your stomach grumble as you eyed the golden bakes.   
  
"I can't help it," you murmured, thinking back to the energies you had been feeling the past week or so. "I just feel like something bad is about to happen."   
  
The woman delicately removed the cookies from the hot pan and placed them neatly on a plate, the growing golden mound looking picture perfect.   
  
"Well we are in the middle of the apocalypse," she grumbled. Being here in Alexandria had been a nice change. The group had changed with the scenery - everyone went from wild and dangerous to being what could only be described as... domesticated. Though some characteristics still remained, like my sense of worry and Carol's cynicism.   
  
"This is different," your eyes met hers, pleading for some form of understanding. That was something you hadn't ever really received an abundance of. When you first met the group at the prison, they had been wary of you but willing enough to let you become part of their family. Much unlike the people at Alexandria. Upon arrival it was clear to the Alexandrians that your group was different, strange - but you stuck out more than the rest. Your heavy combat boots, black ripped jeans and flowy black blouse that billowed behind you when you walked left them staring, and you could sense the old world beliefs that lingered in their hearts. It took a long while before they stopped eyeing you with distrust and fear. Even so, you still kept to yourself. Rick's group being the exception.   
  
"How is it different?" She questioned you, ignoring the cookies and taking a seat next to you on the kitchen counter. A concerned yet tired look was prominent on her face.   
  
"It just is," you said after a moment, deciding it was easier to not explain.   
  
"I'm sure you'll feel better when Daryl gets back. You always worry when he's gone," Carol pointed out and you placed your head on her shoulder. Out of everyone here, the two of you loved him the most, without a doubt. Daryl was an outsider like you, and you instantly felt drawn to him. It seemed it was the same way for him because despite his antisocial manner and distrust for the general human population, Daryl stayed near to you. The familiar sensation filled your body and you hopped of the counter excitedly.   
  
"He's back!" You exclaimed and headed for the front door, only to hear Carol mutter a soft _'how the hell does she do that?'_ as you sprinted into the street and to the front gate. As if on cue, the gate opened. The low growl of a motorcycle announced Daryl's arrival, followed by the car with Rick and Glenn. Your eyes stayed trained him as the motorcycle came to a sudden halt a few feet away from you. The familiar twinge of excitement pulled at your chest when he looked at you. He made you feel as if you were the only person on earth, the way he looked at you. Moody yet soft eyes, shaggy hair, the ghost of a smile; all of which made you love him more.   
  
Daryl climbed of the motorcycle and headed towards you, his crossbow slung gracefully across his back.   
  
"Did you get it?" A mixture of excitement and anxiousness coursed through you. You hoped he remembered. With a small nod, Daryl fished a bag out of his pocket. Running towards him you crushed him in a quick hug before heading off in the opposing direction.   
  
Soon your house came into view. You hurried through the wooden door and down the stairs into the small basement. A few moments later Daryl entered. No one came down here except for you and occasionally the archer; he was the only one you trusted enough.   
  
Placing the bag Daryl handed to you on the small table, you pulled out the last two things you needed; a black candle and star anise.   
  
"I feel like something bad is going to happen. Without knowing what, this is the best I can do for now," you spoke with you arranged the ingredients on the table. Daryl didn't need to say anything for you to know he was curious.   
His footsteps came closer and you could feel his light breaths coming from behind you as he watched you work. The flame of the match burned brightly as you lit the smudge stick. The aromatic smoke filled the air as you moved the stick delicately across the space and over the delicate stones, each wisp of smoke filled with intention. That was followed by lighting the black candle. After that, you crushed white sage and rosemary, adding it to the oil that filled the small bowl in the center of the salt circle. Soon you had completed almost all of the steps. Carefully, you placed the perfect star anise in the center of the oil-herb mixture. Taking in your handy work, you smiled. You had a good feeling about this. Maybe it was starting to work already.   
  
"What now?" Daryl questioned your pause, and you pulled out a crumpled paper from the pocket of your black jeans.   
  
"Now I read the prayer," you answered simply, the glanced over the scrawled words before beginning to read them. Finally, your protection spell was complete.   
  
"You're crazy, ya know that?" The man joked and lightly placed a warm hand on your back. Scoffing lightly, you turned to face him.   
  
"I might be crazy, but at least I'm careful." A smile stretched across your face as Daryl leaned forward and placed a kiss on your forehead. Butterflies erupted wildly in your stomach at the contact.   
  
"Come on, let's head out. Carol made cookies," you informed him as you held out your hand. After a moment, he took your small hand in his large one.  
  
"What flavor?" He questioned after a few moments.   
  
"Vanilla."   
  
"Hell yeah," he said softly, but childlike enthusiasm coated his voice.   
  
"You're adorable," you teased him as you walked down the streets, hand in hand.   
  
"Shut up," he grumbled, though a small smile flickered on his face. 


	9. Suicidal!Reader x Daryl

The wind clawed at your clothes, the fabric snapping loudly against your skin. Your hair blew wildly around your head and thin strands flung across your eyes, cutting your vision into strips. Despite the hair in your eyes you had no trouble seeing what lay in front of you, the sight of which brought nervousness into the pit of your stomach.   
Was this it? Is this what you wanted? Your mind raced as you stared down the edge of the cliff on which you stood. Jagged rocks jutted out of the side of the cliff, contrasted by soft flora which grew alongside them. Your heart pounded loudly in your chest. One step and that was it. Everything would end.  
  
Everything would end.  
  
Guilt tugged at your core as you let out a shaky breath, supressing a sob. If you jumped they would never find your body – at least not before a walker devoured it. Nobody would know what happened to you. Not Carol. Not Michonne. Not Daryl.   
  
A small tear escaped at the thought of him only to be swept away by the harsh wind. Daryl… you’d be leaving him behind. Of course you’d thought of this before you managed to slip away from Alexandria unnoticed. A big part of you wanted to crush the man in a hug while you cried into his chest and whispered how much you loved him, how much you would miss him – you wanted to say goodbye – but the other part of you knew that doing this would only make you less sure of your decision. And doubt was the last thing you needed. So you simply left. You would die without ever telling him how you felt. But that was okay, because it would make things easier for him.  
  
You took a small step closer to the edge; any further and you’d go over. Closing your eyes and breathing slowly, you clutched the locket around your neck. It had been a gift from your sister merely a few months before she was ripped into shreds by the undead. That felt like the day your world ended. Your thumb stroked the delicate metal of the engraved locket, the words ‘always a sister, forever a friend’ slightly faded already from the countless times you ran your fingers across the lettering. Bringing the locket to your lips, you placed a delicate kiss to the cold surface before removing it from your neck. You placed it carefully on the ground. Maybe they’d find it someday… maybe they’d know what had happened.  
  
Your eyes took in the warmth of the fading light of the sky. Bright hues of orange and yellow turned the sky into flames and fire. It was beautiful. It was a beautiful thing to see before your death. Tears flowed steadily down your face now, carried away by the wind almost instantly. This was it.  
  
Inching one foot over the edge, you said your final goodbyes to the world you once knew. The nearby trees rustled, indicating movement, but you paid it no attention. Whatever walker was heading your way wouldn’t reach you in time before you leapt to your end.  
  
The wind seemed to pull you forward, luring you to the mighty fall, as if it were daring you to take your remaining foot off the cliff’s edge. It needn’t dare. You placed all your weight onto the foot without grounding and your body leaned forward, your eyes shut tight. Fingers clawed at your body from all sides, pulling you down as your stomach dropped like a stone.   
Except you didn’t go down.  
  
Your eyes snapped open as your body was violently pulled away from the edge – away from the peace of death that you so deeply craved.   
  
“No! No! No” Your throat stung with the force of your scream and your eyes burned. It got you. The walker got you. You were going to be torn into shreds just like your sister. Refusing to surrender, you drove your fists into the first flesh you could find, willing for it to let you go.  
  
“Hey! Hey! Stop! It’s me!” A voice cried out, making your eyes snap up to its owner. His face was covered mostly by his hair, but you knew immediately who it was. Whether it was to your relief or to your annoyance, you did not know.  
  
“Daryl?” You questioned weakly, puzzled by his sudden appearance. “How did you find me? Did you follow –“  
  
“What the hell are you doin’, y/n? Ya tryna kill yourself?” He was yelling now, but you weren’t sure if it was anger of if he was trying to yell over the wind.  
  
“I… I’m sorry. I just can’t do this anymore, D. I can’t.” The heavy draft turned into a gale around the two of you, Daryl’s leather vest flapping angrily against his thin shirt.  
  
“So? You were just gonna leave me? Leave without me?” A tight knot formed in the back of your throat at the pain in his voice, and you willed yourself not to cry.  
  
“What would it matter? You don’t need me! Nobody does!”  
  
“I need ya, y’n! You’re all I got!” His voice was thick with hurt as he looked you, mouth slightly parted. Daryl’s face showed both pain and disbelief, both fighting for dominance.  
  
“Last time somebody needed me I got them killed,” you said softly, so soft that you thought it was inaudible, but you knew he heard you by the way his face softened. Then it was if the wind had suddenly stopped. Confusion prodded at your brain before you realized that Daryl had wrapped his arms around you, sheltering you from the harsh wind. But you didn’t hug back. You couldn’t.  
  
“Let me go,” you muttered weakly despite wanting to wrap your arms around him and never let him go. He only seemed to hold you tighter.  
  
“I said let me go!” More determined than ever, you placed your arms between your two bodies and pushed with as much force as you could muster, sending him stumbling backwards. The look of hurt that crossed his face sent your heart shattering like glass, each shard piercing you further.  
  
“I’m sorry,” you whispered before suddenly turning around and sprinting towards the cliff’s edge.  
  
“No!” The volume and force Daryl’s voice exceeded that of the wind, and just as you teetered over the edge, his large hands pulled you back to safety. Crying freely now, you slammed your hands angrily into the man’s chest.  
  
“Just let me die! Just let me die! Just…” Sobs ripped through your body as Daryl clutched you to his chest, cutting you off. Slowly sinking to the ground, he held you tight as your body shook and convulsed with sadness. This time you hugged back, and you held him tight as you cried. It was an ugly cry – the type where you can’t breathe and your face contorts each time you let out an earth-shattering sob.   
  
By the time your sobs had turned into sniffs, you had realized that he had been crrying too. Daryl’s eyes were swollen and red, and you carefully placed a hand to his face.  
  
“I’m sorry,” you apologized weakly, guilt tearing at your insides. “I’m sorry,” you repeated. You had never meant for him to find out, and you above all else had never meant to hurt him. “I’m sor-"  
  
His lips met yours, sending warmth down your spine. Nothing seemed to matter anymore; nothing except for him. His lips parted slightly and you breathed him in, deepening the kiss. The emotion behind that single moment seemed to outweigh the intense grief and pain that dominated every thought in your brain. It felt as if someone had finally turned on a light in a room that had been dark for many years.  
When you finally pulled away, you suddenly noticed your heart beating like a hummingbird’s.   
  
“Don’t leave,” he begged in your ear, making your stomach flutter. You trained your eyes on the locket which lay on the ground a few feet away from you as you contemplated his words. It still hurt. You wanted to go.  
  
“Why won’t you let me go? I’m going to die eventually. Why not let it be at my own hands?” Your eyes burned while you avoided his gaze, knowing full well that looking into his eyes would just send you into tears again.  
He hesitated for a moment before he spoke.  
  
“I can’t do this without ya. Don’t make me live without ya,” The man’s voice broke and ended in a whisper, and your eyes met his. After a moment of letting his words sink in you gave a small nod of agreement, to which he responded with a small laugh of relief choked with tears.   
  
“Okay,” you confirmed and wiped at your wet face.  
  
“Okay,” Daryl repeated before clutching you to his chest once again. 


	10. Kidnapped!Daryl x Teen!Goth!Reader (requested)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Requested by Miss noir!  
* in which Daryl is kidnapped by a deranged doctor and held captive in mental institution where he meets Teen!Goth! girl reader who helps him escape. *  
*Alexandria, pre-Negan *

The springs of the old uncomfortable mattress creaked with relief as you stood up off the bed, wiping your eyes lazily. The morning sun filtered through the barred windows and you sighed. You clumsily pulled on your black ripped jeans and black t-shirt before tying on some heavy combat boots. God, you were tired.  
  
Something about spending all day in this mental institution seemed to really drain you. It had drained you the day you were first admitted to the hospital, and it drained you still today – a ripe 5 years later. Granted, you hadn’t spent 5 consecutive years here, but it sometimes felt like it. This place has a way of making you feel like you’d never left.  
  
It was your PTSD that landed you within the dull white walls, where you stayed for 2 years in the process of recovery. After that, you transitioned from being an inpatient to an outpatient, which meant you came here 3 times a week for therapy after granted freedom. When the dead started coming alive and gunshots became as common as the rattling cicadas outside, it made the... bad thoughts come back. The flashbacks started again. The intrusive thoughts. The insomnia. So you went to the only place that made you feel safe - the institution.  
  
You quietly shuffled your way out of the plain room and into what once was the rec room. Well, if you could call it that. There was nothing recreational about it since the television no longer worked, so the only entertainment was a single chess table and a comfy couch.  
  
A wide yawn escaped its way out of you, stopping dead halfway in fright. What the hell? You hastily rubbed your eyes just in case it was a trick of the light. But when you opened up your eyes, he was still there. His lean arms were bound behind his back and a piece of cloth was tied around his mouth, gagging him. Greasy brown hair stuck to his clammy forehead. His eyebrows were furrowed as he glared at you. But there he was. Just sitting on the sofa.  
  
“Who the fuck are you?” You barked at the stranger, though feeling no need to protect yourself. He was tied up after all. The stranger grunted angrily, reminding you of his inability to speak. You shook your head, rubbing your temples tiredly. David was at it again. You couldn’t believe it.  
Impatiently you marched your way over to the man and ripped the cloth from between his teeth.  
  
Let me go!” The stranger immediately growled, anger making his nostrils flare.  
  
Sighing, you sat next to him. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled while offering him an apologetic smile. He didn’t respond, but he looked puzzled.  
  
“I’m sorry that he took you,” you continued, “It’s David. He does this all the time. It’s just some kind of experiment –“  
  
Before you could finish, David hurried into the room, his white doctor’s coat flying behind him. Beneath the salt and pepper stubble that dotted his skin in patches his face looked deeply concentrated.  
  
“Good morning, y/n. I see you’ve met test subject number 97,” David said gesturing to the bound stranger, making you sigh.  
David was some kind of doctor before everything happened. But he seemed to form an interest in recording the amount of time between the death of a human and their rise as a corpse – pretty twisted, but for him it’s a science. And the mental hospital had all the equipment he needed. It was perfect. So he stayed here with you, sharing the large building. He was a pretty good housemate, the only downside being the people he kidnapped and murdered.  
  
“He’s not a test subject, David, he’s a human. We’ve talked about this,” you eyed the stranger and rolled your eyes in exasperation.  
  
“He won’t be human for much longer, so it doesn’t really matter,” the doctor retorted as he scribbled something down on a nearby notepad.  
The stranger opened his mouth as if to speak, but you quickly placed a finger to your lips to shush him. You’d learned by test subject number 12 that David only killed them faster if they spoke too much.  
  
Once he was done writing, the doctor turned to face you and the man, a small smile on his face. “I’ll be back later,” he stated before offering the bound stranger a mischievous smile. “Don’t go anywhere.”  
And with that, he hurried out of the rec room, laughing quietly at his own joke.  
  
“Sorry about that. He’s pretty fuckin’ deranged. What’s your name, stranger?”  
  
No answer. His eyes merely shot daggers into your own.  
  
“Seriously? Okay.” You stood up off the sofa and headed towards the door. “Have it your way. Enjoy dying,” you snorted. As you turned out of the room you heard him speak. You popped your head into the room and raised your eyebrows. “What was that?”  
  
“Daryl,” he grunted and glared at the wall. Pleased at his response, you sauntered your way back over to sit next to him, your smile making your lip ring press against your skin.  
  
“Well hello Daryl. What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” Your attempt at teasing only earned you another death stare. “Sorry, I –“  
  
“Get me the hell outta here,” he snapped angrily, struggling against the ropes around his wrist and ankles. You sighed apologetically, shaking your head.  
  
“If I defy doctor crazy then he’ll kill me. So… better you than me,” you explained. Occasionally you still felt guilty for not doing more to help the people David captured, but it was easy to let that go once you thought of what your punishment would be if you opposed him.  
  
Silence filled the room. Daryl didn’t speak. He didn’t seem to be much of a talker, but he kind of captivated you somehow. It could have been his long dark hair, his eyes or his mysterious demeanour… but he was attractive. Your eyes scanned his face only to notice that he was focused on your tattoos. The black ink covered your skin, giving life to what once was a blank canvas.  
  
“Which one are you looking at?”  
  
Daryl averted his gaze without responding.  
  
“Is it the skeleton?” You turned your attention to your tattoos. The skeleton was actually your first. “Or were you looking at the scissors? Funny story about that, I used to be a kleptomaniac and the scissors is actually the first thing I ever stole, so I figured –“  
  
“Demons.”  
  
“What?” Your eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.  
  
“Demons. On ya collarbone,” Daryl said, and you realized he was answering your question. Your fingers reached up to touch the beautiful inked demons that took flight on your collarbone. There were two of them.  
  
“Got the same ones,” he said dully.  
  
“We have the same tattoo?” You asked excitedly, making him grunt. You took that as a yes. “What do yours represent?”  
  
“Don’t know,” Daryl shrugged the question off and sighed tiredly.  
  
The room went quiet again. You could hear the cicadas outside, thriving in the Georgian heat. Thankfully Cicadas were the only thing you heard; no snarls or growls. The dead ones couldn’t get near enough to the building because of the massive fence that surrounded the place. That’s what made it safe.  
  
“Yours?” The man spoke suddenly.  
  
“Huh?” It would make things easier if he used full sentences more often. Then you might actually understand him the first time he spoke.  
  
“Demons. What do they mean?” He elaborated.  
  
“Uh.. well, two demons; one for each of my mental disorders. PTSD and kleptomania.”  
  
Daryl went silent for a moment before speaking up again. You decided that you liked it when he spoke.  
  
“What ya got PTSD for?”  
  
Your stomach pinched at the question and your heart pounded faster. Fear flooded your body, making you shudder. It’s never fun for anyone to talk about past traumas, let alone people with PTSD.  
  
“School shooting,” you said flatly before getting up abruptly, not wishing to go further into detail.  
  
“Hey! Where ya goin’?” He called out loudly, seeming almost worried. You ignored him and made your way to your room. Marching towards the small dresser that sat neatly pressed against the white wall, you snagged your backpack from the first drawer and started stuffing it with all your things – clothes, a few photos, a flashlight and a knife. This was really stupid, you knew, but you couldn’t help it.  
  
Once your bag was full, you hurried over to the rec room and dropped to your knees in front of a confused looking Daryl. As soon as you were down, your hands fumbled with the knots that secured the ropes around his ankles. As soon as his feet were free you began to untie his wrists.  
  
“Wha-“  
  
“We’re getting out of here,” you interrupted him. “But we have to hurry. David will be back soon.”  
  
The look of confusion on his face was so intense it almost made you break out in laughter. You stifled a snigger despite the anxiety that gripped your chest.  
  
“We have matching tattoos. Seems like a cool coincidence… like fate or something. Can’t argue with that, so I’m getting you out of here.” The ropes finally gave way and Daryl flexed his hands painfully, still eyeing you suspiciously.  
  
“My crossbow. Psycho guy took it when he jumped me. I ain’t leavin’ without it.”  
  
“Probably in the cafeteria. We’ll grab it on the way out.”  
  
Daryl said nothing, but his eyes seemed to say everything. He offered you a small nod.  
  
“Don’t thank me yet,” you said as the two of you hurried out of the rec room and through the large building. As soon as the cafeteria came into view the man ran towards his crossbow, which was sitting boldly on a stark white table. A small pang of fear nipped in your chest.  
  
“Relax, kid, I ain’t gonna kill ya,” Daryl said, sensing your worry. He brushed passed you with his crossbow raised high, and the two of you made your grand escape.  
  
“Oh, and Daryl?” You called out to him as soon as the hospital was behind you. A corpse appeared at the gates ahead, swiftly taken down by the man’s crossbow. Nice.  
  
“What?” He said, walking towards the stilled corpse and dislodging the arrow from its decomposing skull. “You’re taking me with you. Wherever you go, I go,” you said brightly.  
  
He paused for a moment to look at you before marching ahead with you close behind. Well, he didn’t refuse. That was good enough for you. 


	11. Daryl x Daughter!Reader: Part 4

_“Just hang on okay? I’m gonna get you out of here.”_  
  
That was the last thing you’d said to him in days, and you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You made him a promise. Why did you make a promise that would be so hard to keep?  
  
Your mind raced as you stared into the pitch black darkness of your room, fingers tracing the gnarly scarring of your skin. It had been a few days since you last spoke to your father; it was safer that way. Negan was sure of your loyalty enough that he didn’t feel the need to constantly monitor you; however he did have some of the Saviors keeping a close eye on you. At least that’s how it seemed. You’d noticed the not-so subtle sidelong glances they casted at you – Fat Joe, Dwight, Laura, Simon, everyone.  
  
_It’s because they know and they think you’re a traitor. Everyone thinks you’re a traitor, and you know what Negan does to traitors._  
  
“Shut up,” you demanded. Desperate for a break from your tormenting mind, you hopped out of bed and marched blindly towards the dresser where you hid your treasure. You forcefully yanked open the bottom drawer, the hard wood slamming into your shins.  
  
“Shit fuck _dammit_,” you hissed in pain while desperately rubbing your now aching shins. Turning on a light sure would have helped. You really needed to be more careful. Turning your attention away from your throbbing legs, you reached into the drawer until your fingers touched the cool glass. You pulled the bottle out from its resting place and immediately twisted off the cap, taking a large swig. The alcohol burned your throat and you immediately wanted to gag. You hated vodka. So, so much.  
  
Heaving a sigh you limped your way back to your bed and dropped down on the soft covers, taking another sip. It went down easier the second time; burned a little less. Sometimes things hurt less after a little while.  
  
_There could be something in the drink. Someone could have poisoned it. You could be dying right now._  
  
God, you just wanted it to stop. You needed a clear head to figure things out. Figure things out… by yourself. Getting Daryl out was your first priority. It sounded easier than it was going to be; first things first, the Sanctuary was heavily guarded. Secondly, you had to find the key to your dad’s cell – closet – whatever.  
The thoughts floated around in your mind as if they were puzzle pieces longing to connect and form the perfect picture; the perfect plan. Only you had to do this yourself. None of the Saviours were going to help you free a prisoner. The idea alone was ludicrous. It wasn’t as if anyone was going to hand you the keys to the cell with a bright smile on their face and a “wish your father safe travels! Goodbye now!”  
  
A small giggle escaped your lips at the thought, but stopped when you remembered someone. How could you forget? You jumped out of bed and rushed quietly towards the door, taking one last large gulp of vodka.  
  
***  
  
The door creaked slightly as you peeped into the room, eyes squinting against the darkness.  
  
“Sherry?” Your whisper seemed loud against the silence that consumed the Sanctuary. The only sounds were of deep breathing and the muffled snarling of the dead ones on the fence outside the building. It wasn’t unsettling. To you the silence was the norm – the result of insomnia.  
  
“Sherry?” You repeated a little louder, though not loud enough to wake Negan in the next room. Your heart thumped loudly as you stared at the sleeping women, your eyes trained on Sherry’s bed. She should be here – it wasn’t her night with Negan.  
  
“Sherr-“  
  
A small scream began to escape right before a delicate hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you. You spun around to face the figure in the darkness. Even in the lack of light, you could easily identify her. What was she doing out of her room?  
  
“Come on, follow me,” she whispered and grabbed your hand, leading you away from her room. The two of you made your way through the darkness to the stairwell you usually hung out by. When the danger of being heard significantly decreased, you turned to face the woman.  
  
"Why do you smell like vodka?" She questioned, pinching her nose slightly.  
  
“I need your help," you blurted out, ignoring her question.  
  
“First of all can you tell me what’s going on? There’s rumours going around and I’m not sure – “  
  
“They’re true. He’s my dad,” you interrupted her. Sherry folded her arms and leaned against the cement wall, heaving a sigh.  
  
“Well, shit,” she said.  
  
“Yeah. Shit,” you repeated, letting out a small scoff.  
  
“What happened?” The tone in her voice wasn’t quite identifiable – you couldn’t tell whether it was curiosity or concern. Her eyes seemed to sparkle in the dark.  
  
“Look, I don’t have time to explain,” you said apologetically. “But I need your help,” you added. Sherry tilted her head to one side as if she didn’t quite understand.  
  
“I need to get him out of here. He can’t stay here. Negan won’t crack him and turn him into one of his soldiers like the others; that’s just not how he is. My father is stubborn, and that’s gonna get him killed. I know you don’t know him but –“  
  
“Actually I do.” This time it was Sherry’s turn to interrupt. You stared at her quizzically, clearly confused.  
  
“What?” You breathed, waiting for her to elaborate.  
  
“Before… before Dwight and I came here. When there were the three of us on the run from Negan. Remember I told you?”  
  
You nodded, thinking back to the story. You remembered her telling you how Dwight, her and her sister Tina were trying to hide from the Saviours, and how her sister was sick. It was only after her sister died that her and Dwight joined the Saviours, Sherry having to “marry” Negan. You remembered that much.  
  
“Well… there was a guy. We thought he was one of Negan’s, so Dwight tied him up, kept him at gunpoint. Safety, y’know?” She shrugged tightly before continuing. “But he got away and took the duffel bag with our things in it. It had my sister’s medication. Without it, she was dead. It didn’t take long before he came back,” she heaved a heavy sigh, and you realized she was shaking. “He came back, despite everything, just to give us Tina’s medication. He was nice, y/n. A hardass, but nice.”  
  
You wiped at your eyes which were wide with disbelief. She’s told you the story and mentioned a run in with some people, but who would have guessed? To say it’s a small word would definitely be an overstatement.  
  
“That was my father?”  
  
“If his name is Daryl, then yes,” she nodded and reached forward towards your trembling frame. “I want him out of here too. He did something for me by helping Tina. I owe him.”  
  
“So does that mean you can help me?” You asked one last time. Sherry paused for a long moment. Agreeing to this was like signing a death certificate if you or her got caught out. This was not a game.  
  
“Yeah. I’ll help you,” she finally agreed and you wrapped your arms around her, squeezing her gratefully. After a moment, you separated and headed back down the stairwell and towards your rooms. Then you remembered.  
  
“Hey, what were you doing out of your room?” You asked quietly. Yours and Sherry’s bare feet padded softly against the ground as you walked. It seemed a bit lighter than it had been earlier, signalling it was time to hurry back to your rooms before anyone noticed that there were two empty beds. A small tingle ran up your spine as if someone was watching you, waiting like a lion ready to pounce to unsuspecting prey. You shook it off – damn delusions.  
  
“I went to talk to him,” she whispered simply. The idea seemed unnatural. In your mind, the Saviours and Rick’s group seemed to be two separate worlds. Having them interlink and mix felt like two mismatching puzzle pieces being forced together. It was time to separate them.  
  
Sherry offered you a small reassuring smile before disappearing into her room with the other women, which you couldn’t seem to return. A big knot settled in your stomach. There was so much opportunity for things to go wrong.  
  
The same tingle from earlier travelled down your back making you hurry towards your room, desperate to get out of the open. As soon as your door came into view, you stormed in and hopped into bed, not noticing the figure on your dresser till it spoke.  
  
“Where ya been kid?” Negan asked, a small smile on his face.  
  
“Jesus _Christ!_” You hissed at him, heart hammering in your chest. You stormed up and flicked the light switch on, illuminating the room. Negan sat casually on the edge of the dresser, his arms folded across his chest.  
  
“You’re creepy as hell sometimes, Negan,” you rolled your eyes casually despite the nervousness in your chest, sliding back under your bed covers.  
  
“I’m not the creepy one, kid. You’re the one lurking around in the shadows,” he retorted, still smiling.  
  
“I wasn’t _lurking_. I couldn’t sleep, so I just walked around a little,” you lied in desperation. You hoped it was believable.  
  
Negan raised his hands in surrender before letting out a small laugh. “Okay, okay,” he said as he stood up off the furniture and approached you. He perched himself on the end of your bed, placing a comforting hand on your leg just as he had done since the beginning. The knot in your stomach seemed to unravel.  
  
“Look, I know things are pretty shitty now. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Not to mention having your father now. Talk about _awkward_,” he laughed dully. “But don’t stress yourself out here, kid. Don’t worry about him. He's not gonna leave you to burn up like crispy bacon in a burning barn again,” Negan paused for a moment, his face softening considerably before adding finally, “he’s not going to hurt you anymore. You’re safe with me.”  
  
And with that, he stood up and exited the room, flicking off the light. You stared into the fading darkness as emotions battled within you. This wasn’t going to be easy. 


	12. Daryl x Daughter!Reader: Part 5 (final)

The sun beat down on your face as you stared at the scene below you. Prisoners shuffled through the biter-filled courtyard, securing the corpses to their respective anchors. The bright orange letters on their grimy sweaters glowed in the sun, the large ‘A’ catching your attention. Your father stared up at you on the balcony through the greasy strands of hair, his face devoid of all emotion.  
  
“Hey! Get back to work,” a man yelled as he slammed the butt of his gun into your father’s skull, making him stumble forward straight into the arms of a walker. You gasped as the walker clawed at Daryl, but you didn’t flinch. Bad things happened in the Sanctuary nearly every day – everyone was used to a little violence.  
  
Movement in the corner of your eye caught your attention, making you turn to see Sherry walking past the courtyard toward the entrance of the Sanctuary. She seemed casual in her small black dress, but her tensed shoulders betrayed her act. Not daring to make eye contact with her, you turned away from the prisoners and entered the building, heading straight down the hallway and to the stairwell. As soon as you rounded the corner you spotted Sherry making her way towards you. You continued down the hallway, paying her no attention. You had to avoid suspicion at all costs. Her hand brushed yours as the two of you walked past each other, your hand concealing the note she had just subtly handed you. The note crinkled as you shoved it into the pocket of your jeans.  
  
You only relaxed the smallest bit the moment you entered your bedroom. It was nerve wracking. Your jaw ached painfully from clenching it. Sighing quietly, you sat down on your unmade bed and pulled out the crinkled note, heart pounding.  
  
**2 am. Dwight’s room. Keys on wall next to door. BE SAFE.**  
  
Your eyes scanned the note for a second time as you memorized the words. Getting up abruptly you hurried towards your dresser and snatched up a lighter, flicking it on. Holding the delicately small note above the flame, you watched as the orange tongue ate away the instructions. There had to be no evidence. As soon as the small note had disintegrated, you brushed the flakes and ashes behind the dresser and left the room.  
  
Rushing out of the room, you headed towards the lower level of the Sanctuary where the rush of the workers had slowed to a trickle. Some days they seemed more tired than others and you couldn’t help but feel mildly sympathetic. Your eyes scanned the large number of people in the room; people waiting in line to exchange points for bread, women sewing new clothes with old material, and Laura, who was reprimanding a young girl - just who you were looking for.  
  
You hurried down the stairs and pushed your way through the crowd of people who parted like a school of fish.  
  
“Do you see the dead freaks outside? I can take you out there and you can join them if you want,” you heard Laura snap at the girl as you came closer.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t –“ The young girl began, promptly cut off by the woman.  
  
“You didn’t what? You didn’t mean to steal the –“  
  
“Laura!” You called, ending her confrontation with the young girl who seemed to be on the brink of tears. She wasn’t that much younger than you by the looks of it.  
  
The blonde turned to face you, her scowl softening as her anger with the girl was momentarily forgotten.  
  
“What is it?” She asked, placing her hands on her small hips.  
  
“Negan. Any idea where he is?”  
  
“He’s out. He’ll be back soon I guess. You need anything?”  
  
You pinched your face as the noise around you and signaled for the woman to follow you. The crowd once again parted as you and Laura headed towards the stairs to the upper level, and you couldn’t help but notice all of them averting their gaze. Laura tended to be… less tolerant with her inferiors, to put it lightly. The fear was evident in their faces when she was present. You on the other hand were nicer – it was easy to be kind to people that you would have naturally been on the same level as had Negan not taken you under his wing.  
  
“Can you tell him something for me?” You asked. Her mouth opened, but before she could speak, you added, “I know you’re not a messenger, but you’re the only one I can ask.”  
  
Laura sighed and nodded reluctantly. One thing you knew she hated was acting as a messenger. She was a powerful woman but hardly went out with the men as often as she would have liked, which meant that she was often stuck either being a guard, the peacekeeper when Negan was away, or a messenger. Everyone knew she would rather be where the action was.  
  
“Can you let him know that I’m not gonna be here tonight? He gets pissed if I don’t tell him,” you explained, and she nodded.  
  
“Where are you going?”  
  
Your mind raced as you tried to think of a believable lie – a place that would check out.  
  
“Not sure. Maybe find a barn or something. Negan will get it,” you said finally.  
  
“Sure thing.”  
  
You offered Laura a small smile before heading back to your room, heart pounding. Lying sucked. It wasn’t so much the fear of lying as it was the fear of the consequences that might follow if you were caught out. But this was necessary. Tonight you were going to sneak into Dwight’s room (and pray he wasn’t there) and get the keys to Daryl’s cell. Then you were going to sneak him out.  
  
_Hopefully it would be as easy as it sounds,_ you thought bitterly to yourself.  
  
***  
  
Your eyes stayed trained on the small analogue clock that hung on your wall. Each tick of the hand seemed to send waves of anxiousness through your body and you shuddered. It was 1:56 a.m. It was four minutes until go time; four minutes until you would be courting death.  
  
_It’s probably all a setup. Sherry is luring you straight into a trap. Dwight’s room? He’s going to be in there, he’s going to catch you in the act. He’s going to kill you, or maybe get Negan to burn the other half of your face just like Dwight’s._  
  
Your fingers rubbed at your temples in an attempt to soothe the headache which throbbed in your skull. A craving for vodka poked at you, but you promptly brushed it away – it was important to stay alert.  
  
“Do you really want your whole face to look like a fucking raisin?” Your eyes darted to the corner of the room where the figure spoke. Even in the dark you could tell the figure was you. You always seemed to hallucinate yourself in times of stress.  
  
“Shut up,” you mumbled to yourself.  
  
“Right now only the one half of your face is ugly as hell. You go through with this, you can kiss the good side goodbye,” the hallucination said, making you sigh in frustration.  
  
“You’re risking everything for a man who didn’t do shit to help you when you needed him. Just a reminder that he chose Carol over you. He doesn’t care about you. You’re going to get yourself killed because of –“  
  
“I’m over this shit,” you snapped as you grabbed your gun from under your mattress and tucked it into the waistband of your jeans. As quietly as possible, you exited your room and slowly padded your way through the building. Each step in its silence seemed as loud as if you were wearing wooden clogs.  
  
With each stairwell you walked down your heart seemed to beat faster. Negan thought you were out tonight, so if anyone saw you they would know you were up to something. The thought made you shrink into your large black hoodie in the hopes that you became less visible.  
  
The floor with Dwight’s room was probably the most dangerous. There were dozens of sleeping Saviours in their rooms, and one wrong move could end everything. Deciding to ignore the thought, you quietly stormed through the hallway like shadow, stopping at Dwight’s door. Your trembling fingers wrapped around the cool door handle and you mentally said a prayer to a higher power as you pushed it down. The door groaned softly, making you suppress a wince. Popping your head into the room you saw that it was empty. No trap as you had feared. A spark of relief flared through you like fire and you stuck your hand into the room, feeling against the wall until your fingers found the jingling keys. Bingo. Snatching the keys and stuffing them into your pocket, you softly shut the door before rushing down towards the lower level where your father was.  
  
The plan was far from being safely and effectively executed, but you made a mental note to give Sherry the biggest hug you could when you saw her again. She did this, and there was no way you could ever repay her the way she deserved.  
  
As you rounded the corner to the prisoners corridor, you quickly plastered yourself flat against the wall. One of the guards was pacing the hallway. It wasn’t long before he disappeared down a different corridor and you raced forward towards Daryl’s cell, you fingers squeezing the keys to stop them from jingling like a big ‘Here I Am! Come and Get Me!’ neon sign.  
  
Hands trembling more than ever, your hurried to fit one of the many keys into the lock. There were about a dozen keys, and you had to try them all. The footsteps of the guard echoed down the hallway. Your heart thrummed and hammered. The first key stopped halfway into the lock – not a fit. You tried the next key. Then the next.  
  
“Y/n?” A raspy whisper came from within the small room. You pressed your mouth to the crack of the door, still fumbling with the keys.  
  
“Yeah. Stay quiet,” you demanded as you tried the next key. The guards footsteps got louder and louder, and a small tear made purely of fear ran down your face.  
  
“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” you urged as you tried more keys. Your voice was shaking. Your hands were trembling. None of the keys were working, and the guard was coming closer.  
  
“C’mon, _c’mon!_” You repeated angrily, fear radiating out of every inch of your trembling body now. What if they were the wrong keys? What if there were more keys in Dwight’s room and you grabbed the wrong set? What if –  
  
“Y/n. Calm down. It’s okay, just breathe. Breathe,” Daryl whispered against the door. You sniffed quietly and shakily gulped down air as you tried the final key. Shoving it into the lock, it didn’t stop halfway like all the others had. It went straight in.  
One small turn.  
Click.  
  
You quickly opened the door and reached one hand in to grab at your father, the other hand grabbing the gun that had been in your waistband. The two of you sprinted down the hallway and pushed through the back exit, the fresh air washing over you. Rushing towards the motorcycles, you immediately started checking for keys in any of them.  
  
“Y/n,” you heard your father call out from behind you. You ignored him, fully immersed in finding a motorcycle.  
  
“Y/N!” He called louder, and you spun around to face him. His eyes were puffy and tired, his hair clung to his skin and his face unashamedly wore the deep lines of sleep deprivation.  
  
Daryl marched forward and hugged you tightly. You could feel each shaky breath he let out.  
  
“Thank you,” he said when he finally pulled away, wiping at his eyes.  
  
“Um, you can take this bike,” you said as you patted the Kawasaki W175, stepping aside to make way for him.  
  
“Come on then, let’s go before the guard sees us.” He rushed forward towards the bike, but you took a step back.  
  
Daryl wheeled the bike out of its parking spot. You just watched.  
  
“Y/n? Let’s go, we gotta hurry,” your father urged, his face falling as he noticed your hesitance.  
  
“Y/n?” he repeated, making your eyes burn.  
  
“I’m not going,” you whispered thickly, avoiding his gaze. You tucked your gun back into your jeans, refusing to acknowledge the clear hurt that was radiating off of him.  
  
“I can’t. Negan took care of me. If it weren’t for him I’d be dead. I can’t leave him,” you explained softly, willing yourself not to cry. “And I can’t leave Sherry. She’s my best friend,” you added.  
  
A moment of silence passed before your father finally spoke. “There’s somethin’ I gotta tell ya.”  
  
Your eyes snapped up to meet his. Whatever it was didn’t sound good.  
  
“Sherry told me to tell ya. She’s gone, y/n,” he said softly, almost as if it were his fault.  
  
“What?” You asked in disbelief, a tight knot forming in your throat. It couldn’t be true. It couldn’t.  
  
“She wanted to say goodbye. But she couldn’t. Said it’d hurt too much,” Daryl explained. “She said that she loves ya, and that she’s sorry but she needs to get away,” he said finally, looking down at his.  
  
Your hand flew up to your mouth as you tried to suppress a sob. Sherry was gone. Your only friend here was gone. You didn’t even get to say goodbye to her, and you’d probably never see her again. That was it.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, leaving the bike and walking awkwardly towards you, placing one hand on your shaking arm.  
  
“We gotta go, y/n. We gotta go,” Daryl said, leading you towards the motorcycle. You wiped at your face, your fingers running over your damaged skin. Once again you took a step back.  
  
“I’m not going. I said I was gonna get you out and I did,” you said between sniffs, your voice tight from the lump that had made a home in your throat – one you knew was only going to disappear after a lot of crying.  
  
Daryl stared at you, hurt clear in his eyes. He tilted his head to one side, the small outside light on the side of the building illuminating the wetness that had appeared on his face.  
  
“I ain’t leavin’ ya. You’re my kid, y/n! I ain’t losin’ ya again! Don’t ya realise what Negan is? What he’s done?” Tears flowed freely from Daryl’s already swollen eyes.  
  
“He killed two of our people. He killed Glenn, for god’s sake,” his voice cracked and softened as soon as he uttered Glenn’s name.  
  
“Glenn? What did he do?” You questioned, confusion pounding in your mind. You remembered Glenn well. He was funny and kind, smart and awkward… he was one of the good ones. What could he possibly have done?  
  
“Nothin’! He didn’t do _nothin’!_” Daryl yelled, his voice full of pain as if he were the one who killed Glenn rather than Negan. You felt guilty as you questioned Negan for a moment. Would he really kill someone like Glenn for no reason?  
  
_He’s lying to you._  
  
_No, he’s not_, you said mentally. For the first time you could truly oppose the voice in your head. It wasn’t possible to fake the level of brokenness that you could clearly see in the person before you. He was utterly broken.  
  
The door behind you slammed open and you darted around in fear.  
  
“Hey!” The man yelled, reaching for his gun. It was the guard. Without thinking you rushed forward and knocked the gun out of the guard’s hand, making it clatter loudly to the ground. You pulled out your own and pointed it at his head.  
  
It was the man you’d had a cigarette with outside not very long ago; the one you still couldn’t quite remember the name of.  
  
Throwing your head over your shoulder, you looked at Daryl.  
  
“Go! Before anyone else comes!” You yelled at him, tears blurring your vision.  
  
“I ain’t leavin’ ya!” He yelled back. God, he was so _stubborn!_  
  
The guard rushed forward but you were faster than him, and you fired a bullet into his knee. He screamed in pain and dropped to the floor, writhing in agony.  
  
“They’ll be coming after hearing that. If you want to get out of here at all, you have to go now, Dad,” you pronounced each word slowly and with as much force as possible. Regardless of what he had done to you, you needed him to survive. You wanted him to survive.  
  
Daryl slammed a fist into the bike with a small yell of frustration before climbing on and roaring the engine to life. Tears streamed down his face as he looked at you.  
  
“I love ya, y/n. I’ll come back for ya. I’ll come back,” he whispered thickly, the sadness pouring out of his eyes and down his face.  
  
“Yeah. See you around, Dad,” you offered him a small smile through your tears before the motorcycle lurched forward, disappearing into the night.  
  
The guard let out another cry and you directed your attention to him, heaving a sigh. Kneeling in front of him, you placed the barrel of the gun to his sweat-covered head.  
  
“What’s your name?” You asked quietly, pushing the barrel harder to his head.  
  
“N-Nicholas. Uh, N-Nick,” the man said between shaky breaths of pain. Nick. That’s what you’d thought.  
  
“Well, Nick,” you said sweetly, emphasizing the ‘k’ in his name. “Say a word about this to anyone and I’ll kill you myself,” you whispered threateningly, staring straight into the terrified eyes of the bleeding man.  
  
He nodded quickly, obviously terrified.  
  
“W-What do I s-say?” Nick breathed, squeezing his eyes shut.  
  
“Make something up,” you suggested brightly as you tapped the gun against his head, making him wince. A small, sad smile worked its way onto your face as you tucked your gun away and headed back into the building. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really enjoyed writing this story! Thank you to Ao3 user Emily for requesting the part 1 concept! After that, the rest just seemed to follow its own path. I really hope you guys enjoyed this mini-series.  
There will be plenty more oneshots coming up, so please keep reading; your support means everything to me <3


	13. The Christmas Tree

The chilly air nipped at your skin as you worked. Despite the cold, there was no way you could complain – the winter air was a fantastic change from the usually unbearable summer heat.  
A walker snarled hungrily behind you and you turned to jam your weapon into its skull, bringing it to a halt. Your body jerked violently as you ripped the axe from its bloody head, returning your attention to the tree in front of you.  
  
_Thwack._  
_Thwack._  
_Thwack._  
  
You winced as the axe cut into the trunk, knowing that each wack would only attract more walkers – and you were out here alone. Your fingers gripped the wooden handle of the axe tighter, your hand aching in protest.  
  
_Thwack._  
_Thwack._  
  
Another walker snarled loudly as you watched it approach you. Your face pinched in disgust as its loosely hanging ribcage dangled with every step it took. Sighing, you walked closer to the corpse, readying you axe. Before you could take a swing, an arrow flew past your head and straight into the eye of the grotesque walker, making you gasp.  
  
“What the hell are ya doin’ out here?” Daryl growled and you turned to face him, one hand on your hip and the other holding the axe on your shoulder like a baseball bat.  
  
“What the hell are you doing following me?” You retorted, rolling your eyes slightly. Daryl shot you a mildly annoyed glance as he brushed past you to retrieve his arrow. He wiped the walker goo-covered arrow on his pants before noticing the tree you had been working on; the lower part of the trunk had been wildly hacked away at, white naked wood angrily poking out in splintered shards.  
  
“Ya tryna cut down the tree?” The man question, eyebrows raised.  
  
“Yeah,” you shrugged nonchalantly before slamming the axe into the tree once again. You’d done a lot of chopping in the last half hour, yet you hadn’t even managed to break through half of the trunk. Only a small wedge of wood had been hacked out. But you refused to give up.  
  
“For what?”  
  
You huffed, turning to Daryl. “Really?” You asked rhetorically, annoyed. “We need a tree! It’s almost Christmas!” You said excitedly.  
  
Daryl shot you a look.  
  
“I have a calendar, okay? And if I’ve been tracking it right, it means that Christmas is in like… a week,” you calculated desperately in your head. “And we can’t have Christmas without a tree.”  
  
“Ain’t nobody worried about some stupid holiday. We don’t got time to play kid’s games,” Daryl grumbled as he walked past you, scouting the area for any more walkers. Leaves crunched loudly under his feet with every step he took.  
  
“It’s not a kid’s game,” you scowled. “It’s _Christmas_. Besides, I figured it’ll be good for everyone. Help them get their minds off everything. You know…” Your voice softened slightly as sadness ran through your heart. “It’ll be good for Carl. Maybe Rick, too. Hopefully it’ll cheer them up after Lori…” You trailed off as you stared blankly into the forest floor, fighting off the awful memories of that day.  
  
Daryl paused for a moment to look at you, his face softening. He made is way towards you and took the axe from you in exchange for his knife.  
  
“You take watch, I’ll work on the tree,” he said softly, averting his gaze. Your heart warmed as you stared at him in awe. Daryl had been your closest friend since you joined the group in Atlanta. You got to know him well, but moments like these still took you by surprise. It just made you appreciate him more knowing that underneath his hard exterior lay a heart filled only with care and kindness.  
  
Two more walkers approached from the west, pulling you back into reality. Running up to them, you kicked the one away and it landed on ground, writhing like a turtle stuck on its back. You jammed the knife through the first walker’s temple before turning to the one on the ground. Its face was split from the side of its lip up to its torn ear, exposing a row of blood-stained teeth. Disgusting. You stomped on its head with your boot until the walker’s head exploded like watermelon under a hydraulic press.  
  
A loud thump behind you made you jump, and you turned to see your chosen Christmas tree laying on the ground. Man, he worked fast.  
  
“Hey, how’d ya plan on gettin’ this tree back to the prison anyways?” Daryl asked staring at the tree.  
  
A small flush of embarrassment heated your face. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I didn’t really think that far,” you admitted. Daryl snorted, a whisper of a smile tugging at his face.  
  
“Let’s go. We’ll get the truck."  
  
***  
  
“What’s this?” Carol smiled as she watched you and Daryl heave the tree into the cell block, the pile of laundry in her arms forgotten.  
  
“A tree,” you grunted with effort as you both finally managed to prop the tree up against the wall. Carol frowned slightly.  
  
“A Christmas tree, to be more specific,” you said between heavy breaths. Daryl perched himself on the stairs leading up to the upper level of the block, sighing heavily.  
  
“Speaking of which, can you please do something for me?” You asked the woman, who was still staring at the tree in its sad-looking state. She tore her gaze from the almost-drooping branches and nodded.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
You gestured to the currently empty cell block. “Can you try and keep everyone out of here while I decorate it? I want it to be a surprise,” you shoved your hands in your pockets, feeling a little stupid. It did seem stupid and childish, all things considered.  
  
“Of course, sweetie,” Carol placed her hand on your arm before heading out and leaving you to do your thing.  
  
“What ya gonna decorate it with?” Daryl asked and you suppressed your fright, momentarily forgetting he was there. He was just so quiet all the time – it was one of the things you liked about him.  
  
“Uh, I’ve been saving stuff from the supply runs,” you said as you headed to your cell. You scanned the tiny room, personalised only by a few photos, and paused by the bed. Underneath the small bed lay a bag, which you quickly snagged up before heading back out of the cell.  
Stopping in front of the tree, you dumped the contents of the bag out onto the floor; a wide array of jewellery lay shining in contrast to the cement floor, alongside plastic flowers that were slightly squashed, a lei, some actual Christmas ornaments, two mangled strips of tinsel and (your personal favourite), some solar-powered outdoor fairy lights. Daryl whistled as he stared at the miscellaneous paraphernalia.  
  
You picked up a few necklaces, stopping for a second. “Well?” You asked expectantly. “Are you gonna help me or what?” You raised an eyebrow at Daryl who stared for a moment before getting up and grabbing some of the objects you’d collected.  
  
Together you decorated the tree, hanging necklaces and lei’s and other random objects while you hummed the tune to some Christmas song you’d forgotten the name of. Despite Daryl’s usual dislike of people singing or humming, he didn’t complain at all, pausing only occasionally to shoot a small glance your way.  
  
Once the lights were wrapped around the tree and the small solar-powered block charging in the sun, you reached for the last object – the star.  
  
“You made that?” Daryl asked, staring at the star you’d handcrafted from some twigs, twine and then wrapped a necklace chain around for the sparkle effect. Embarrassment heated your cheeks and you gave a small nod.  
  
“Looks great,” he said, making your heart flutter with happiness and a small smile creeped on your face. You stretched up towards the top of the tree to place the star on the highest point – you couldn’t reach it. No matter how hard you stretched, you were still about 12 inches to short.  
  
“Daryl-“ You began, wanting to ask if he would place the star on the tree, but before you could finish your sentence, you felt his warm hands wrap around your waist as Daryl lifted you up to reach the top. Your heart raced as you felt his hands on your skin, your shirt slightly raised. Taking advantage of your sudden height, you perched the wooden star on the tree before being lowered back down to the ground.  
  
“Thanks,” you breathed as he let you go, fighting off intense blush that threatened to burn your cheeks like fire.  
  
Daryl nodded, and you could swear you saw a hint of redness on his cheeks.  
  
***  
  
After the sun had started to set, everybody had returned to the cell block with looks of awe sparkling in their eyes. The Christmas tree glowed in the increasing darkness.  
  
“Dad, look!” Carl excitedly pointed to the star, a big grin plastered on his face. Rick’s eyes sparkled with tears in the light of the tree – and so did everyone else’s.  
  
“It was y/n and Daryl’s handy work,” Carol informed everyone, offering the two of you a small heart-warming smile.  
  
A chorus of compliments and thanks filled the room, making you blush and Daryl stare at the ground shyly. The first few words of Silent Night echoed through the cell block as Beth and Maggie started off the song, soon followed by everyone else’s soft voices. Joy filled your heart at the sight in front of you. The only thing you’d wanted from this tree was a moment of unity, peace and happiness for everyone. They were your family after all.  
  
You shut your eyes as you listened to the song, a small tear of happiness escaping and running down your face. A warm hand touched yours, and you reached out to interlace your fingers with Daryl’s, warmth and love filling every inch of your body. In that moment, you swore you’d never felt more at peace.


End file.
